Broken
by Jackrabbit2011
Summary: Daddy, it wasn't my fault- I was only a child. I never told her to do it. You took me and you broke me into shattered pieces- how can you blame me for her mistakes? I never knew how deep scars could run until I had them...
1. Loss

**Broken: Chapter One- Loss **

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A/N: **Okay, I know I should be concentrating on updating my other story; Evil Has Two Sides, (Check it out if you haven't already, please!) but this sprang into my head whilst I was in Geography and wouldn't go away, so I wrote it down.**

Disclaimer: **I'm not claiming**.

Summary: **He loathes me. The hatred he channelled through his fists left me shattered and bleeding. I thought I was beyond repair, but then I met Sirius and my world changed forever.**

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The icy chill of the wall I am pinned to seeps through my shirt, oozing into my bones until the cold engulfs me entirely, but I don't notice it. I can't feel anything at all, not the texture of the moss attached to the basement's wall under my hands, the confident trickle of black drainpipe water cascading down it- making it appear that the wall is bleeding ink; crying pitch tears as it witnesses the act before it. Not the hardened knuckles of the man, who has me shoved roughly into the concrete fence supporting the house above us, as he plunges them repeatedly into my torso.

By natural law, I should experience the nicks of pain, them blossoming into flowers of pure agony as he does this, but I don't. Not one emotion, I'm empty of any feeling as he throws me to the floor, viciously attacking every inch of me he can reach with his fists, his uncontrollable fury blinding him, causing him to lash out sightlessly at me, catching my empty face repetitively in his rage.

_Depression surrounds me. It follows, trailing behind at my feet, waiting for its opportunity to strike if my barrier slips; tense, expectantly, if I snap, it'll smother me, drown out everything I have, that I feel, until I won't care anymore about anything._

_I broke in the end._

_It isn't too bad, the depression; I can be happy, although the feeling is muted, but I have forgotten what it used to be, so no_w _I have nothing to compare it with. I exist, I float around in pretence, my friends do not suspect, they never have; they have always known me to be quiet, subdued, so; like me, they have nothing to compare- therefore I am normal to them. Everything is an echo of its former self, but I cannotremember, so I am content …_

When my father first began this practise, I could feel every blow, or more accurately, the hatred and resentment behind them, as he bruised me with his hands, the disgust, and the _enjoyment _in his rabid eyes as he heard each cry, each echoing reply of the pain he inflicted upon me issue from my blood stained throat. As I registered the fact that he took pleasure in my suffering, realisation hit me; this wasn't my dad anymore, this new person couldn't differentiate me from shit, who was so engulfed by his hatred of me- that hatred's origin I knew nothing of- that he didn't care whether I lived or died- no, he did, he didn't want me to escape the torture he put me through, so he kept me alive, barely. That was the moment, as I lay, bruised and bleeding, tears seeping through my eyelashes, that I resolved never to shed another tear, to cry another sob for the man that I thought loved me; never again would he hear me beg him to stop, to weep over the physical signs of his rejection when I was alone in my room after he was finished inflicting his wounds on my body.

So, the next time my father entered my room, clasped my neck, threw me to the floor and proceeded to beat the crap out of me, I allowed myself to slip into the welcoming arms of numbness that had always stalked in the shadows every time I was beaten; to lose the recognition of the pain he administered to me and leave the bedroom of number sixteen Angel Close far behind, speeding away to another place where I could forget what was being done to my body, and for once, relax my guard; wave away the tense, anxious feeling that came with living in close proximity to the person you hated and feared in equal measure the most in the world.

But all too soon, I would have to leave my mental sanctuary and return my consciousness to my body, inspect the damage and concentrate on making the visible wounds unnoticeable; that would be all I needed- others getting wrapped up in my poisonous life, dooming themselves to a life with no future. For my father had many, well, not friends exactly; more servants, people who did his bidding and would avenge his imprisonment if the current happenings came to be brought to the attention of the Law.

And so, time passed. The attacks increased in frequency and ferocity, until it became a constant thing, the numbness, and as more weeks dragged by, I found I couldn't resurface; but it was an advantage, that even if my father took me by surprise on a sudden impulse to hit something, I was always prepared, so now I never once felt the pain he poured onto my shoulders in such vast quantities that it would horrify any other being if they witnessed such a monstrous occurrence. But now I could no longer feel any other emotion; I forgot how to be happy, I never experienced sadness, confusion or hate; I could no longer remember what joy felt like, or what it was to be embarrassed or annoyed. I became a hollow being, a walking shell, and I never attempted to haul myself out of the pit I had thrown myself into in desperation as the blows became too heavy to bear; I had no reason to; no loved one to have to care for, to act normal for, no human being that would become suspicious if I failed to seem like I was meant to- a girl that was seventeen, in the Order of the Phoenix and fighting for what she believed in alongside her friends. Harry and Ron, Remus, Sirius, Tonks, Neville, Ginny… … all those that had only ever seen the empty side of me, and knew no different, therefore could not realise that this wasn't my normal, inside self. They, however special they were to me, are kept at a distance, so I can not become so attached that if anything happened to them, I would be beyond repair, although they didn't realise this, they think that is who I am; but it isn't.

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A/N **Okay, so the first chapters up, tell me what you think, please! Not wanting to sound like a sad person with no life, but I like them, so leave me some!**

_**G**_**P**


	2. Stolen

**Chapter Two- Stolen **

A/N: **Hello! Me again! Warning: this is a bit dark, so if you don't like darkish stories, don't read it… but you probably will anyway. So, um yeah… … enjoy…. **

Disclaimer: **I never have, and never will, own HP. **

Tomorrow's Dust:** I've looked at it myself and I realised it IS horrible to read bold print, so I've changed it on Chapter One. And if you have checked out Evil Has Two Sides, you can be certain I'll be redoing them too. As for whom this person is, you'll find out in this chappie….**

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I rose, my movement slow and deliberate, from my bed; blinking, befuddled, into the sharp light streaming through the slit in my curtains. The rays were pointed and viciously jagged, slicing into me every second I remained in their wake; the light creating deep slashes in my skin. I snorted, as I needed any more scars, I already had enough… no, I chastised myself sternly, don't go down that road, Hermione. (A/N: See? Told ya.) My intelligible hiss followed the clattering and curses from my father in the kitchen below me. I avoided him as much as possible- we both preferred this, with the exception of when his hatred of me consumed him and he could no longer control it- but now I would have to face him, like I did every morning.

The swearing continued as I descended the stairs, a hollow wave washing through my chest- the only thing I could do to acknowledge the agonising pain that I should have felt, indicating that I was, indeed injured in some form- with each minute loss of altitude, as I floated down them with soundless elegance that I was… not exactly grateful, but close enough. Without emotion, I stepped into the kitchen.

It was filthy; to put it mildly, the sink overflowing with grime encrusted plates that were beyond saving, the rubbish was pouring from the bin, seeping over the sides and flooding the floor. Scraps of decaying food lying abandoned on the soiled countertops. The scene was no surprise to me; the kitchen had once been immaculate, everything in its place and spotlessly clean, almost like a hospital; every object white and sparkling, radiating care and affection. Now all it radiated was neglect and a putrid smell.

My father had kept it, and the rest of the house in pristine condition, he had cared for his surroundings.

That was before the drinking started.

The attacks had begun quickly after, and my home fell into disrepair; at the start, I attempted to retain the standard my father had kept it in, but when the numb stupor had engulfed me, it became irrelevant, and I soon forgot.

Our eyes met as I entered; Rogers eyes were cold and cruel, his face distorted by the hideous, expectant leer pulling at his lips. Mine face was smooth as granite, impassive, giving no emotion as it always was; I didn't know how to do anything else. My stone eyes flicked to the silent form leaning on the foodless pantry door; my twin brother, Charlie, was immobile, as usual. He had watched countless of my father's beatings- but he did nothing; what could he do anyway? We had made vows never to pull others into this murderous web; once you were caught, you never escaped.

He nodded, equally emotionless- it was a perfected skill, this not feeling, and we had both acquired it; Charlie was never attacked the way I was, but his version was probably equally atrocious, something that he did not wish to share with me or anyone else. I only knew that _something _happened between him and Roger because I had heard his strangled sobs when he believed I was asleep; his screams when he was reliving the nightmare that, like one that haunted me, occurred ever time he closed his eyes. And, of course, his fearful distance he kept from his father; an unconscious reflex that I did too.

"What happened?" I breathed as I passed him; Charlie looked at me with flat, dead eyes- he'd obviously been hoping that I wouldn't notice the fist shaped bruise on the left side of his face.

"Nothing." His empty voice was lowered like mine, so that our father would not hear.

I nodded; I knew how he had got that bruise, I already had before I asked him.

"Oi!" My father spat without warning, breaking our eye contact. "Get over here, bitch!"

I turned wordlessly, reaching the oven that my father stood beside.

"Cook!" He ordered; disgust and spit spattering me. I did so without protesting, while Roger lounged in his chair- the only one still intact- and Charlie remained as statuesque as before.

The food I was frying was for one person only-naturally. Father hated Charlie and I, so why would he bother providing sustenance for us?

I placed the remaining intact plate in front of my parent- if you could call him that- and turned to leave; my brother and me would find food somewhere; there were always sympathetic old ladies who would give scraps to 'orphans' like the two of us. That was my morning routine; cook food and get the hell out before Roger could decide to hurt me or Charlie, and it normally worked; he would be too consumed with eating to bother about the two of us slipping away. But not today.

I was halfway through the doorway, Charlie on my heels, when there was an ear-splitting crash as the plate shattered on the once white floor tiles.

"Filth!" My father roared, neither of us even flinched; we had seen the maniacal glow in his eyes too many times before be intimidated by this man, who would cower any other child with his madness. We also knew what would happen next. "Vermin!" He slapped me hard, my head snapped sideways with the force; my cheek throbbed- not in the normal, painful way; it was almost a heartbeat kind of pulse- the numbness living up to its name.

He grasped my shoulders and threw me into the countertop- I felt no pain, as usual, only the familiar hollow sensation- I slumped, glassy eyes, watching as my father's iron toed boots thump towards me. My vision blackened as one collided with my nose, breaking it instantly, blood splattering my t-shirt and drenching the nearby area, including the prized shoes.

Father snarled; "Crap, my shoes! You bitch!" he kicked me again, this time in my stomach, I involuntarily doubled over, even though I felt nothing- my body was reacting to the pain I could not feel. He stepped away from me, towards my brother, who had remained in the doorway, his eyes dark; he was retreating to his 'sanctuary', where he could forget; it would be him next, so he was preparing himself. Do not judge Charlie for not doing anything, I had forced him swear the first time he had seen this happen to not involve himself, what could he do anyway? Only hurt himself -and, consequently, me- in the process.

Father leaned forwards, so his sneering face was only centimetres from Charlie's- my brother's eyes were blank; he had already left the miniscule kitchen far behind- just like I had wanted him to.

"Leave, you insolent piece of shit, now!" Father growled, his voice holding nothing but menace. Charlie remained still.

"DON'T IGNORE ME!" Roger roared in Charlie's ear. My twin stayed silent. Roger's control snapped at his son's silence; his fist rose and crashed into my brother's face. Both of us had identical broken noses, and neither of us could feel the agony we should have. Charlie's eyes cleared, he looked past my father, at me. I nodded, resigned; both of us didn't have to suffer- it was me father wished to hurt, not my brother. His eyes clouded once more.

Charlie left.

"And I'll deal with you later!" my father screamed after my twin's retreating back. If I could have, I would have been curious; what was it that my father did to Charlie that he didn't want me to know? He knew what father did to me, so why couldn't he tell me what happened to _him_? Maybe it was worse than this, the beatings I received; maybe I _didn't_ want to know.

Roger Granger turned his attention back to me.

His grin was wickeder than it had been before; what was he planning? Again, I almost wished I could feel curiosity, but the desire soon passed- I would be dead by now if I could still feel; by my father's hand or my own. Father stepped towards me and knelt so he could tower over my face, blocking out the flickering light of the a single, shade less bulb suspended from the cracked ceiling.

"It seems, you worthless bitch," Roger sneered down at me, not hesitating to spit in my lifeless face. "That you don't feel the pain I so enjoy giving you." So he had noticed. "So we'll have to change that, won't we?"

I didn't answer.

"I think I'll try something a little different, shall I?" I felt almost uneasy at the insane smirk plastered to his hideous face.

The feeling grew as he rose, put one leg over my body and sat down again; so he was straddling me, the evil smile still stretching his lips.

_Oh, god… __Please, oh please no… _

He unzipped his jeans."See how you like this, bitch." He whispered in my ear as he lent over me. His cold, heartless laughter shook through me.

Ten seconds later I started screaming.

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_A basement, cold and dank, the only window is barred, rain trickling down it, leaving semi-translucent trials behind the drops, like a thousand tears. Like the tears that roll down the cheeks of the teenager lying lifelessly on the black floor in the farthest corner from the door, her eyes brimming with liquid that overflows them, dripping onto her torn shirt. _

My numbness has deteriorated; I'm trying desperately to reclaim it; but I cannot. For six years, I have felt nothing, no emotion whatsoever; now it is returning to me- the fear, the hate, it washes through me in limitless waves, breaking over my head, showering me with the emotion I have suppressed for so long. Most of all the pain; every slap, every punch, every slice of the blade I have ever endured for six long years that I have never felt, I am feeling now. It is agonising, unbearable; every inch of my body hurts, especially below my stomach, between my legs.

I know the reason for _that _pain. More tears- understandably foreign to me after a separation of so long- spring to my eyes as I recall what happened that caused my precious numbness to be lost to me. I don't want to think about it, it hurts- even though Roger Granger beat me, took pleasure in my early suffering, then frustration at my lack of reaction after the first few months, I had still believed that some part of him, a miniscule snippet, cared about me, loved me like he had before my tenth birthday. But now, I realise how stupid, how naïve I was; he didn't care worth a shit about me, I mean, my own father did… did, things to me- how could a real father do that to their daughter? No, he wasn't my father anymore in the slightest; he lost that right when he did _that_ to me.

An involuntary sob racked my chest; the bastard had taken all the good things from my life and incinerated them- my future, my emotion, my brother and now my innocence.

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A/N**: Oh, my god, I hate the bastard, why the hell did I write this story?! I would say, 'hope you enjoyed it' but that's kind of sick. Would you lot out there understand if I said hope you like it? 'Cos I don't mean like THAT, know what I mean? I'd be surprised if you did know, because I don't, and it's me saying it.**

**Review? Please?**

**_G_P**


	3. Spilt Blood

**Chapter Three- Spilt Blood **

Swimminglizard20: **She may be saved; she might not, so you'll have to read on…. **

Tomorrows dust: **Yes, it is Hermione/Sirius, but I didn't know who the main female character would be until Chapter Two, so if you know how to change it, do tell…**

Disclaimer: **As I have said on either this or EHTS, I own NOTHING but a computer and a lollipop, which has been stolen and salivafied by my friend Andy, so… just the computer… it's all J.K's. **

A/N: T**he penname is bordering on insane now; last I heard it was going to be 'sugarplumfairy', but I will murder Will if he does that to me. Pact or no pact, rest assured that will NOT be my penname. **

**God, you lot out there in cyber world must get bored with my long ranting author notes…**

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**Charlie. **

Rain trickled down the window pane like tears. I couldn't see out of it, to the black ground two storeys below, the pot-holed road or the cheap concrete pavement of the neglected lane. Not that I cared, what did it matter to me? It wasn't worth shit to me; nothing was. Apart from Hermione.

She was so strong, so brave to continue with the abuse our father dealt her. She was the one who had taught me the numbness, when that bastard had started -

No, don't think about it, Charlie, I told myself. I don't venture down that trail of mind; I'm afraid of the consequences.

The black hellhole my father calls my bedroom is cheap; the furniture is second hand, the paint scavenged, the carpet is the same one the previous owners had, having never been replaced in the twelve years that we have occupied this wreck. I had to supply the contents of the room- my father had spat in our faces and laughed when we had so naively asked for money to buy things.

When we outgrew cots, we were given a mattress and a single, tattered blanket to share between us; my early years held memories of constant coldness, holding my sisters frail, shivering body closer to me, trying to keep her from growing ill.

It never worked, but I tried nevertheless. Hermione had always been so much more worse than I; the beatings begun earlier; when she was eight or nine- my torture started at eleven, but it was long enough a time- she caught colds and sicknesses easily; I cannot remember when I didn't see her sneezing.

My teeth clenched as I recalled the first time I saw her after the numbness set in; hollow, dead, barely human. But it was her eyes that frightened me the most; empty, hopeless and hard, after that day I never saw a flicker of emotion in her ever again. My father, well, I couldn't call him that any more, after what he had done to us, but I realised a long time ago that he was nothing like he pretended to be; every loving word, every caring smile was a show, a lie, and the only thing I could be certain of was that he was a bastard who would never change.

I can feel my control slipping with each despairing thought; soon I would need my release. I hate myself for being so weak, but what else could I do? It was the only thing that softened the pain that I used to feel; now it was a habit I can not break.

My fathers loathsome face; leering and cruel- his intention clear on his face- as he ordered me to go away only hours before loomed into my vision, blocking everything else out.

I snapped.

Striding to my pitiful excuse for a wardrobe- a long cupboard with the doors missing- I throw my scarce belongings out of it, searching for the blessed box. After a several moments of rifling through the contents of the 'wardrobe' I found what I was looking for; a small, black box.

Its silver clasp is rusty, making it troublesome to open; the lid protests, as if it does not wish to share its contents, but it withers under my hands; three black books and a quill lie, nestled in black velvet inside, flanked by two other objects. With respective care, I rescue the books from their silky capturers-but it is only the one on the top of the others that I am interested in-and lay them on the floor beside me, keeping only one in my hands. The edges are dog-eared, as if it has been thrown around too many times, the corners were torn, crinkled; several pages protruded at disturbing angles.

I flipped it open, deliberately ignoring the pages that were filled with crimson script, to an empty page, and then returned my gaze to the box, where a pot of ink rested; it lid carved into an angel, her wings spread, encircling the rim in silver feathers. A gift, from Hermione.

Taking it out, I dipped the black phoenix feather into it, the tip emerging doused in glittering ruby liquid.

Steeling myself for what was to come, I began to write.

_I'm drowning in my memories. Of Hermione when she was happy, of her sweet, carefree face, innocent in its youthfulness, but then these recollections are shadowed, by visions of her now; her dead eyes, the bruises that are constantly present under her eyes-neither of us sleep; we are afraid that we will wake up and the other will be gone; taken by the merciless hands of Roger Granger. _

_The two of us may be numb, permanently emotionless, but we are still aware of the hurt that we have- and still do- endured, we acknowledge that we will always be broken; that we can never be normal- now that Roger has damaged us beyond repair. That knowledge will haunt us forever, knowing that our own father has doomed us to a life with no meaning. _

_My dear sister; I can hear her screams from up here, in our room. I know what HE is doing to her; I know that it may break her so viciously that she may not recover- if we ever can; after what has happened these past six years I doubt it._

_I can only comfort her when he is finished, hope that she can be saved from the abyss she will no doubt sink further into. No-one helped me when I was hurt, so I sank further still; now I cannot resurface. Hermione has no idea how deep my scars run; hopefully, she will never find out. She has the potential to recover from this._

_I do not. _

The screams of my sister had stopped when I had finished; now I would have my release.

With familiar, unexplained trepidation, I turned to face the last remaining object in my box.

The knife; blood-coated and glimmering in the light of the streetlamp directly outside my window, staining the blade a sickly orange. I picked it up, holding it gently to avoid being cut with the sharp point when I did not wished to be, and balanced it in my hands with two fingers. I stared at it with cold, uncaring eyes.

Without a second more hesitation, I flicked it over, pressing it into my arm, no doubt or regret crossing my mind as I watched the beads of crimson appear, rapidly growing into jagged red streaks. My blood ran down my arm, creating stripes of red down its length. I flipped my wrist over, so the blood gathered in a drop and fell, splattering on the open page of my… journal, you could say; the shattered droplets making beautiful, - in a sick, twisted way- fanlike patterns, dancing across the page, melding in with the ink.

I watched the flood of ruby tears begin to slow, and then cease altogether as the blood clotted and halted the flow. Relief and satisfaction coursed through me, I had been awaiting this moment for hours; it was my release, it was like medication, I was in pain till I took it; except I didn't feel the pain, not even when I purposely dug into my own skin to try and feel something.

As I re-gathered my precious objects and placed them in the box, the passive breeze swooped in through the miniscule, grime-encrusted window and ruffled the dirty pages of my 'journal'. I grimaced as countless blood-soaked pages demanded my gaze, drawing me in with their hypnotic, deadly power; I was ashamed of my addiction, I didn't need to see the proof laid out before me.

The snuffle and the furious shout were my only alert.

With desperate haste, I grasped the box and stuffed it back into the crevice it was kept in. I snatched a cotton wrap from my shelf, looping it around my wound, stubbornly ignoring the rows of neat, white scars that decorated the length of my arms, and pulled my sleeve over the top.

With the acquired stealth of the hunted, I crept soundlessly down the stairs; my head just protruding slightly around the corner so I could see downstairs.

Roger had a silent Hermione around the neck, dragging her towards the basement door; which he shoved open in one shove.

"Now, bitch," He snarled, spitting in Hermione's face. "You'll spend some time in here; why? Because you deserve it you worthless piece of" the rest of his words were lost as Hermione turned her head to block him out, and stared straight into my eyes.

She shocked me; for the first time in over six years, her carefully erected mask had slipped, and she was crying.

Her desperate eyes were all I saw before she was thrown roughly down the steps and the heavy door to the basement was closed, condemning her to a place I couldn't follow to unless I had the door's key.

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**Sirius **

The rain sailed into me, splattering my robes until I was drenched to the skin; water seeped into my eyes, blurring my vision. The broom I was perched on was slippery with water; my hands were numb, but I flew on through the torrents, because I had to.

The date was October twenty-first. Nothing special, expect Hermione was supposed to return to Number twelve Grimmauld Place yesterday, but she hadn't.

It was in these times, when Voldemort was at large, that even a few hours lateness sparked panic in everybody.

Hermione understood the paranoia, she wouldn't have done this intentionally, I knew that. She was a gifted person; equal if not the better of the majority of Voldemort's followers, but talented as she was, Hermione would not have withstood an attack of many Death Eaters alone.

And then there was her parents to consider; Muggles, incapable of defending themselves if she fell.

So we; Tonks, Lupin, Harry, Ron, Ginny Arthur and Kingsley, were heading towards Hermione's house now, to inspect it and ensure that everything was as it should be and this was all a mistake. Tension ran high between us; all of us were wondering what we would find, but at the same time dreading what we imagined would be there.

"Sirius!" Arthur's voice was barely perceptible above the screaming winds, but I heard it. "Bring your group down, the house has been spotted!"

Dread and relief battled in me; we were close, but what would we find? A ruin, dead bodies strewn like common rubbish amongst the debris… a heated battle? A perfect, unspoiled house where everything was in order?

Every cell of my body yearned for the latter, yet hardly anything of me believed it would be true.

"Oi!" I bellowed, my voice shaking slightly due to my thoughts, but the wind's roars blocked it out. "Down in three!" In sync, eight silhouettes astride broomsticks plunged downwards, breaking the descent at the last second.

We hovered, tense, waiting for an attack, our wands brandished undramatically- there was no time for frivolity in battle.

Nothing happened. No black clad people appeared, no jets of light issuing from their wands.

"Dismount!" Kingsley ordered hoarsely; the continual shouting had obviously taken its toll on him. We all obeyed, grouping together and moving towards the front door with anxiety radiating off each of us.

None of us were prepared for what we witnessed in Hermione Granger's house; I was certain scene would haunt me until my last breath and beyond.

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A/N**: okay, what do you think? Not much happens in this, but the Order has found Hermione's house! What will they see inside when they go in? Actually, I'm not sure, but it will come to me… **

**Review?**

_**G**_**P **


	4. Black Saviour

**Chapter four- Black Saviour **

A/N:** Me again, just thought I would say hi before the story, and thank my reviewers:**

Googlibear

Swimminglizard20

Siriuslycallisto10

Tomorrows Dust

**Love ya all! Hmm, doesn't seem to be many there though. You guys out there wound me to the heart. **

**So yeah, with that done, enjoy… **

Tomorrows Dust: **I am forever in your debt; your points are solid gold- I hate having incorrect spellings in my work… **

**I've done what you asked, and I think it has helped. Please, oh please will you do it for my other story? I know it isn't as interesting but I'd sell my soul for your insight… **

**Anyway, point being; a thousands ta's for the mile long review (literally).**

Disclaimer; **Inanimate objects will talk before I own Harry Potter. Actually, maybe I shouldn't say that, I could have sworn my fridge magnets were chatting yesterday… **

**Charlie **

Darkness cloaked me, surrounding me in complete night. Not a minuscule scrap **(A/N: I was sorely tempted to put 'Smidgen' but it's a) not a word as far as I know and b) not very imaginative, so…)** of light penetrated the thick, black atmosphere; my **father** had chosen my prison well- the cupboard under the stairs **(A/N: bit of irony there for you!), **which was small and challenging to escape from. Of course, if I had had access to my wand, it would have been effortless; but neither I or my sister- who was still captive in the basement- had our wands, or indeed, anything magical whatsoever; Roger had confiscated all our belongings at the beginning of our return, anything magic related had been ensnared and whisked away to some cage where they gathered dust; helpless and immobile.

So I was trapped, I couldn't escape; and if I couldn't escape, I couldn't rescue Hermione. Breaking out of my personal hell was futile, I was almost positive Roger had barricaded me in-physically and magically- so I was forced to wait.

Which left me with only my thoughts, which was a situation I constantly avoided; no person in my shoes wishes to relive the horrors they so desperately try to bury.

Which left me with no choice but to fade away…

My inner sanctuary called enticingly to me- it was forever at the edge of my mind, waiting patiently for me to require it- and I replied, striding forwards, into her spread arms; like a man embracing their lover. I drifted, sinking rapidly into the swirling fog of my mind.

And this was how I was, what seemed an eternity later, when the door was cracked open and searing light spilled into my 'cell', searing my sensitive eyes and silhouetting the figures before me.

**Sirius**

Oh, God.

So _this _was where Hermione went when she came home for the three week break, to see her family. This _hovel_; a grotesque, filth-ridden skeleton of a house that looked as if it had never been cleaned.

This wasn't what Hermione had told us she went home to. She had told us she lived with her parents, that everything was dandy happy.

I should have known it had been a lie.

What was good in this world anyway? Only death, misery and pain existed, not happiness. At least, that was my view. What a pessimist I am.

I turned to the others, deliberately keeping my stone mask intact, my expression showing nothing of the horror, the guilt that swept through me in waves, each as bitter and sharp as the previous. Each face was an identical, shock and fear glaring at me, the result of sweeping through the mould spattered door and setting eyes upon what lay behind it.

I'll leave it at saying the outside was spotless in comparison with the interior.

"Split up." I ordered, my voice coarse. "Search everywhere."

Before anyone could move, a man's voice rang from behind us, the volume pricking my eardrums.

"Oi!" he bellowed, appearing at the entrance to the kitchen. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" The man was seething; his hands were balled into fists, his wand directed at my chest. My wand was poised in front of me, ready to counter the man's attack. I was about to utter the stunning spell when I caught sight of his face.

Although it was deformed with his lived leer, his features were definable; his jaw, his eyes, his cheekbones were all Hermione's.

"Roger Granger?" I said softly, lowering my wand. The man's tense posture did not change.

"Who wants to know?" He retorted warily, a fraction calmer.

"Are you Mr Granger?" I persisted, concentrating on making my voice calm and soothing.

"Yes." As one, the members of the Order behind me relaxed. Roger's gaze shifted to them, and his eyes widened slightly; as if he had only then realised how large the party was.

"Where is your daughter?" Lupin asked, businesslike and commandeering. Roger's eyes narrowed considerably, and for a minute second, I thought I saw him pull his lips back over his teeth in a feral snarl. But the moment passed, and his eyes warmed, his sneer dissolving into a casual smile. Too casual. My body tensed reflectively. Why, though? He was nothing to fear, this man- at least, not if he was who he said he was.

"My daughter is away." Granger's smile was still too unguarded, too open. I frowned, my eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Where to?" I threw at him; Roger's stance faltered slightly, and I felt a surge of triumph, but it was accompanied by a sliver of expected trepidation. What was going on here?

"I, I…she"- he stumbled over the words, attempting to get them out as swiftly as possible. I glared at him.

Kingsley, who stood beside me, produced his wand from the folds of his conspicuous purple robes and muttered; "_Homenum revelio._"

The tip glowed blue.

Every pair of eyes turned to stare at Roger, and I was satisfied to see accusation and curiosity in each.

"Who's here with you, Roger?" Remus speculated quietly. Roger shifted, and then grinned evilly.

"I'll never tell you where they are." Every word's contents were seething with contempt and hostility.

I opened my mouth to retort, but then paused; _they_

Ididn't have to say anything; Harry spoke for us.

"You will," he growled defiantly. "Kingsley, the veritarseum, if you please."

Roger's vile face turned white as Kingsley delved into his voluminous robes a second time.

It all happened swiftly after Kingsley's movement.

An ears-splitting bang; an exclamation of surprise coupled with pain; copious amounts of foul puce-coloured smoke issuing from the ground, and a grey shadow retreating back through the doorway into the kitchen.

I didn't stop to think; I did what was considered later and forever remembered both as incredibly heroic and the most idiotic thing imaginable in the history of imaginably idiotic things.

I launched myself though the puce haze in the estimated direction of the silhouette.

Whatever the vaporous substance was, it hurt like hell.

"Crap, crap, crap!" I yelled as my eyes seared with more pain as the smoke seeped through my hurriedly closed eyelids and struck my eyes with animalistic ferocity; but more of the loathsome fog slid down my throat like hazy fire…

My flailing limbs connected with a mobile object; instinctively I extended my arms further and encased the thrashing thing in a cage of bone and skin. Together, the two of us span out of the befouled air and tumbled through the kitchen's entrance; colliding with the bare hearth of the neglected fireplace.

Now free of the tentacles of the wretched smoke, I could see what I had captured.

Roger Granger.

He was struggling against the binds of my arms, his face misshapen with fury, profanities streaming from his bared teeth. Freeing one arm, I hit him hard. There was a sickening crunch from beneath my folded fingers; I'd broken his nose- blood erupted from his nose, drenching us both.

Without warning, pain blossomed in my side. I doubled over; in doing so, I released Roger from his entrapments. I was beyond caring as he righted himself, and bent down to my level.

"See what comes with messin' with me, wizard?" he snarled, spitting in my face. "You pay a heavy price for it; Hermione learned that, Charlie learned that. It's time you learnt it too."

I froze as he jeered Hermione's name. "What have you down to her?" I tried to yell, but the blood in my throat hindered my speech, twisting the words until only strangled gurgles emanated from my mouth. Despite this, Roger seemed to understand.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough."

Icy tendrils of dread curled around my heart, choking me, at his words. _Oh god, what has he done?_

Darkness was lurking at the corners of my eyesight, threatening to blind me, drag me under into unconsciousness. Roger chuckled as another wave of agony washed over me, its potency showing clearly on my face. "I might as well tell you, wizard, about what your precious little Hermione has been doing these past few weeks. Not that she had a choice, but that is irrelevant."

Whoever said words can't hurt you; they'd obviously never heard what Roger Granger told me then.

With one last cruel laugh, he leaned forward and whispered in my ear words that afterwards I would relive in my nightmares.

Roger drew back, satisfaction playing at his features when he caught sight of my horrified face.

With that revolting image and those terrible, haunting words, I sank into unconsciousness.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**Kingsley **

The carpet less stairway creaked as I edged up the worn steps; the peeling wallpaper coiled in mould painted rolls cascading down the walls, flowing onto the stairs like snakes. I reached the dark landing and strode purposefully to the closest door, opening it and peering inside.

A bathroom; the furniture cracked and yellowing.

An evidently unused bedroom cowered behind the next door.

Lupin had ordered us to search the house, look in every room to try and find Hermione. Ron and I were searching while the others questioned Granger; Tonks was tending to the injured Sirius – Granger had stabbed him with a nearby bread knife; a clumsy, misplaced attack, leaving Sirius injured but not fatally so. He was currently unconscious.

I sighed, frustrated and confounded- no room on the second floor had revealed what I sought- either Hermione wasn't here or she was downstairs. My body was half turned in preparation to descend the steps when I heard it; an almost imperceptible snuffle.

That was the moment I saw the door at the opposite end of the landing, its calloused surface covered with paint identical to that of its fellow walls. With vigilance, I stalked over to it, muttering a spell- causing light to emanate form my wand tip- and reached out to grasp the once brass handle; it coarse surface rough under my palm. It halted as I tugged gently at it- magic.

As it swung ajar, a consequence of my muttered spell, the hinges screaming in protest, my mouth opened to call my fellows, but no sound escaped my lips as I stared at what was before me.

The space behind the wooden entrance was nothing more than an airing cupboard; the miniscule archive was riddled with forgotten clothes and piles of dirt.

Amongst this was a boy.

He was pale, thin and dirty; seventeen, eighteen in estimation. He was lying, corpselike, on the floor of the cupboard, his eyes fixated on a point I could not locate. I reclaimed my voice as I gaped at him; "Lupin, Arthur!" My strangled cry echoed off of the walls, repeating my call so it rebounded of every object, surrounding me with my own voice. I could hear frantic footsteps bounding up the stairway, and seconds later Remus, Harry, Ron and Mr Weasley appeared at my side.

"What"- a voice began, but faltered and ceased as whoever it was caught sight of the open cupboard and its contents.

Arthur lowered himself onto his knees so he was crouching and spoke to the crumpled form still heaped in the closet.

"Can you hear me?" his voice was deliberately soothing and quiet. The boy's eyes flicked in response, but he did not speak. His eyes unnerved me; they were misted, as if he were in a trance or dream.

"Hello?" Arthur persisted, his voice questioning. The boy now stared at him, as if he knew that something was required of him, but he could not recall what it was. "What is your name?"

The boy gazed at him uncomprehendingly. Arthur and I looked at Lupin desperately. His eyes were thoughtful, calculating. After several epic moments, he whispered uncertainly.

"Charlie?"

The effect of the simple word was perplexing. The boy's eyes cleared, his breathing turned from even to jagged and he stared at the people standing above him. As he digested the sight before him- five cloaked men holding wands aloft- he uttered a cry of surprise and leapt up, retreating further into the closet.

"Charlie?" Lupin asked again, ignoring the perplexed gape that we were all sending him. The boy- Charlie, whoever he was- remained silent. It was then that I noticed his arms; blue and purple flowers adorned his skin; the fresh bruises ran the length of his arms, which also bore rows of neat white scars that shone in the wand light. He followed my line of sight and swiftly moved to cover them, tugging at the rolled up sleeves with unexpected urgency. My hands extended to halt him, but he shrank away from my touch as if I carried the plague. I frowned, and he flinched in terror; I froze; this boy was _afraid_ of us. By now the other Order members had noticed our silent interaction and were observing us. I turned my head to stare at them, puzzlement plain on my face.

"We won't hurt you, we're from the Order." Lupin assured the boy, who relaxed his tense posture slightly at his words. "Please, you must tell us who you are."

"My name's Charlie." Charlie's voice was flat, it held no emotion, just like his eyes- my unease returned rapidly at his words.

Lupin nodded encouragingly, and Charlie continued in the same, empty voice. "I live here with my sister."

In unison, everybody drew back in astonishment. "Hermione has a brother?" I heard Harry murmured to Ron. "She never told us."

Curiosity sparked within me, why had Hermione neglected to inform her closest friends of the existence of her sibling?

"Do you know where Hermione is?" Arthur asked. Suspicion entered Charlie's eyes for a second, disappearing in an instant, in its place the granite mask.

"Why do you want to know?"

I was about to answer when Harry interrupted me; "We're her friends, we've come to get her- she was expected at our Headquarters yesterday." Charlie stared at him incredulously, and then shook his head.

"If she is still where father put her several hours ago, she's in the basement."

He returned our shocked glances evenly. "Don't you get it?"

"Get what?" Lupin enquired curiosity and horror warring clearly on his face. Charlie did not answer; only stepped forward into the wand light and passed Lupin's shoulder. Still with mystified expression adorning our faces, we followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen.

**Charlie **

I didn't have the faintest idea why these people were here, but if they helped Hermione I really didn't care; she was my priority now- it was time everybody knew what Roger had been doing to us.

I could hear my father's furious bellows issuing from the kitchen, and knew that in order to reach the basement; I would have to endure the kitchen first.

I met his livid glare- he really did have an astonishing temper- as I entered the room, following behind me were the five people I had seen when the door of the cupboard was opened. Three others robed beings occupied the kitchen; two women and an unconscious man. The women gave me encouraging smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes, and Roger glared at me from the chair he was magically bound to.

"So," He snarled, hatred filling his weedy voice; I stared grimly at the face of the man I had thought loved me as the others flinched at the venom in the man's voice. "You thought you'd play games, did you boy? Well, you'll learn again that you won't get away with it while I'm in charge." I said nothing. Roger's eyes narrowed in disgust. "Answer me, boy!" When I remained silent, he slapped me hard with the back of his hand; causing my head to snap sideways. The people gasped as I didn't grimace and returned my gaze to his. I turned my back on him and opened my mouth to speak to the black man wearing intense purple robes, but a groan to my right caught my attention and I halted.

The recently unconscious man grunted again and rose, springing lithely to his feet. His gaze swept over the scene before him; a man, bound to a chair with invisible bonds, a scrawny boy feet away from the first and a gathering of shocked people crowded into a revolting kitchen. His eyes came to a standstill on Roger and he growled.

"You." Although his voice remained calm, the man's posture revealed his internal rage at the sight of my father. That's when it hit me- he knew.

Without warning, the man launched himself at Roger, who ducked, but could not move as the attacker crashed his balled hands into his face repeatedly until several of the men dragged him off.

"Bastard!" he spat, the two men still restraining him with evident difficulty. "You cruel, heartless BASTARD!" Roger only sneered in response, and stood up. This, of course, should have been impossible due to the fact that he was bound by magic and had no access to a wand.

"Have you never heard of wand-less magic?" He asked, replying to the puzzled stares he was attracting. "No? Well, go back to fucking school." We watched, helpless, as he summoned his wand from the counter top and disapparated with an echoing crack, leaving us staring at the spot on which he had vanished.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\\//\/\\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The clouds where dark, heavy with water, but we remained dry as we flew under them on broomsticks, leaving the nightmare of my life far behind. Hermione twitched in my protective arms and I glanced down at her. He face was pale, drawn and starved-I doubted I looked any better-and even in sleep her forehead was creased with premature lines.

After Roger had disapparated, I had led the black man and his followers down into the basement, where we had found my sister lying in a mixture of rainwater and her own blood, unconscious from lack of sleep and blood loss. Now we where following the unknown people to a place I had no inclination of the whereabouts, but, I reasoned, wherever we were now headed, I was certain it was better than what we were leaving behind.

"It's okay, baby." I whispered in her ear as we passed over the London Eye. "Everything's going to be okay."

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A/N:** Wow this chapter's long. I'm so sorry you poor readers! Hopefully there won't be any errors, but if so, do tell. Now, I KNOW Hermione is meant to be muggleborn, but you know what? I really don't care because this story wouldn't work without it and the creation of this is only for pleasure and possible practice for future published works so… whatever. **

**Oh, and Tomorrows Dust, if you have recovered from spraining your fingers from the last review, let me hear from you, please!**

**Go on, press the 'Review' button, you know you want to. Even if you hate it, TELL ME. I'm a big girl; I'll handle whatever you throw at me. **

_**G**_**P**


	5. Pictures and Memories

Chapter Five-

A/N: **Me again! Go me, I updated. **

Tomorrows Dust: **If you didn't get the message ( involving Cheesecakes; if you did you'll know what I'm talking about) then tell me and I'll either put it on here or send you another one, but your queries from the previous chapters were answered in that. **

Khayankh: **I would email you, but I don't have your address! **

Disclaimer: **I've said it for four other chapters; do think I'm going to change it **_**now**_**? I don't own Harry Potter… at the present. **

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**Sirius **

Hermione's face was pale and drawn, lines of worry still etched onto her brow even in sleep. I was perched on a chair next to the bed she was lying in, but every few moments, I found myself pacing; countless thoughts swirling in mine head; a million questions, several answers and a whole lot of meaningless drivel.

Hermione had been unconscious continually since my fellow Order members and I had returned to Grimmauld Place three day earlier, and I had remained at her side as much as my chaotic schedule would allow. I couldn't leave her, however hard I tried; when I looked into her face, I felt a surge of affection, and the need to protect; Hermione was like a precious, extremely fragile jewel to me- I couldn't walk away from her; my thoughts were plagued with her image and worry gnawed at my insides until I returned.

But even when I did, one mental picture still remained to haunt me.

The moment I saw her when we discovered her prisoner in the basement, weak and barely conscious, bruises covering every inch of her body; blue and purple flowers, their petals splashed blindly across her skin. That will follow me wherever I go; even in death I am certain I shall still have that recollection, until I saw her smile, saw her experience what true happiness was.

A timid tap on the beaten door's surface wrenched me from my reverie. Two boys entered, one clean and red-haired, whilst the other was dirty, bruised and vacant-eyed.

"Charlie. Ron." I greeted them quietly, and then returned my gaze to Hermione. Ron coughed, and said awkwardly; "I'll, er, leave Charlie with you, then." I felt a small smile blossom at my lips as Ron rushed hastily out of the room, and then turned to regard the boy standing in the doorway.

Like his sister, Charlie was thin, his bones jutted out at disturbing angles, with deep bruises underneath his eyes. His frame cried starvation, and he looked like anything would snap him in two with the barest of touches. I inhaled softly.

"Charlie, do you know who I am?" I asked, and reluctantly lifted my gaze to examine his face.

Not the slightest hint of emotion lurked in his features; he was alive and breathing, but was dead on the inside. Somewhere throughout his years of being abused by his father, Charlie had lost everything inside of himself; and I prayed Hermione was not the same. The boy didn't say anything, only shook his head in response.

"I am Sirius Black, I own this house." The boy twitched, as if he wanted to flee, as my hands rose to gesture at the surrounding walls. Iron bands contracted around my heart as realisation struck me; he believed I would harm him.

"Charlie," I said softly, comprehension stirred in his eyes for a fleeting moment. "Nobody here is going to hurt you."

"That's what they said last time." His voice was devoid of any feeling, and anger accompanied my pity this time; no child- for that was what he really was- should have to live their lives in fear, in constant numbness so they could not feel the pain that a person they had believed loved them gave them. The puzzlement must have shown clearly on my face, as Charlie answered my unspoken speculation with bitterness.

"The others, who came to 'rescue' the two of us- it was really just my father's men playing with us, trying to force a reaction." He paused, and looked at me with such distrust and resigned fear that it hurt to see. "Are you the same?"

"No, Charlie, we're not." My earnest was genuine as I looked once more into those hopeless, dead eyes.

**Charlie **

"Please, Charlie," The violet haired woman- Tonks, I recalled- opposite me begged desperately. "You must tell us what happened."

If I could have snorted, I would have- but exclamations such as that needed something I no longer had; emotion. As if I was going to tell these people, these _outsiders_ Hermione's secrets; the information she didn't want anyone else to know but me. And until she awoke and told me face to face that she trusted these people with her secrets, I would not utter a word. It was a vow I had kept for three years; that I would not involve anybody else in the hell she and I were trapped in- we would not be responsible for the destruction of their lives. They were happy, and had family, friends, pets that they loved and were loved back, and they were blissfully ignorant of our suffering. Nobody had the right to take that from them, least of all the two of us. In the beginning, I would have escaped and told the first person I saw, but Hermione made me swear I would not- and I loved my sister too much to lie to her-, and in time I saw her reasons as justified.

No matter what Roger did to us, she would have everybody else in the world remain oblivious to our abuse, at whatever cost; even if it lost us our lives. Her compassion had astounded me, but then I came to realise that she truly cared, and she would put people she didn't even know before herself, even if it hurt her beyond belief.

She was always the more loving of the two of us; she would halt to help others in the rare moments we were outside, she would comfort an injured child if she found one, guide it back to its carer and simply disappear afterwards, without gratitude or thanks for what she did. The abuse had left me bitter, I could see that, and I had no longer cared for anyone but myself, but Hermione had remained as she always had; loving and considerate.

But then the beatings increased, and she did the only thing she could- but also the thing that tore her to pieces to do so; she left feeling behind. I saw the transformation; she no longer comforted or helped, but she did acknowledge the things round her. She still cared for the little girl who'd fallen from her bike, but in a more dulled way-as if the feeling had been whisked away and placed behind thick glass- and she didn't stop to right them, to reassure the child who desperately craved loving arms.

She left them behind, like the feelings that made her vulnerable.

And then she had taught me the 'gift'; given me a defence, so I was able to take what our father threw at me, even if my sister remained oblivious to what it was exactly that he did to me.

Even without any strong emotion, I could still only barely suppress a shudder as recent, haunting memories flashed in my mind, of two silhouettes fighting, of a man's cruel, coldly amused expression, and in contrast, a girl's dead face, her brown curls hanging limply on either side of her face.

"Charlie?" A distinctly feminine voice, high and concerned, broke my reverie. My eyes, that had involuntarily closed snapped open, to see four worried faces staring back at me. Two of them I recognised; Tonks and Sirius, the man who had led the rescue. The remaining pair however, who were noticeably younger- estimably around my age- were not familiar; they were related, I guessed; their hair was identical- flame red- as were their faces; angular and covered with a layer of prominent freckles.

I glanced at Sirius, who had spoken my name. He swiftly repeated his words.

"I said; this is Ron and Ginny Weasley. They're members of the Order too, and friends of Hermione's."

A dry, rasping noise issued from my throat, and I realised that I had laughed. Actually _laughed_. In six years I had never laughed, there had been no reason to; now I had, albeit it being more of a humourless cough. It took me several seconds to regain my voice.

"Hermione does not have friends." It was a statement, with no hint of doubt in my words, and puzzlement showed on every face at my certainty. "We do not take that risk."

Whilst the others remained confounded, realisation slowly appeared on Sirius's.

"You didn't want anybody to know, did you?" He whispered, as every head turned to regard him. As he was perfectly correct, I decided he was worth a reply.

"No. We endangered any who befriended us, so we learnt to rely on nobody but ourselves; everybody else could vanish, but we could not lose who we were." _In that sense at least, _I added silently. Pity occupied every face, and I almost snarled- almost; Hermione and I did not need their pity, it did nothing to erase the internal- and external- scars we both nurtured. "She may have been close, special if you wish, to you, but you wouldn't have been considerably close to her." I felt nothing as I watched the two younger peoples'- Ron and Ginny- faces crumpled with hurt, they had obviously been convinced that my sister was their friend. Bu then a foreign feeling sprouted inside me; it was diluted and feeble, yet powerful enough to cause me to yearn to see smiles upon the faces of the two. Without pausing to reconsider; I reached into my jacket and withdrew two pieces of folded parchment.

"Here." I said, tossing the papers across the table at the four opposite me. "I'll bet you've never seen Hermione like that, have you?" My voice was sharp with bitterness.

I watched as Ginny Weasley nervously opened the folded paper, trepidation illuminating her feminine features. I glanced out of the window quickly; although I carried the papers with me constantly, every time I gazed at their contents' it hurt me, puncturing my heart with every second that my eyes were upon it.

And yet it was imprinted on my memory, seared onto my retinas, torturing me if I ever let my defences fail.

They were pictures; one taken eleven years previous, when the two of us were six; the other almost eighteen years before; right after my twin and I had been born. Even at the early age, I remembered the taking of the more recent picture clearly as if I was there again; the scenery, every smell, every taste, the texture of every object that I placed my finger tips upon.

It was before the abuse had begun, two years before Roger Granger would lay a hand on my dear sister. The three of us occupied the paper –its frame had been smashed long ago- huddled together under a monstrous tree, tiny white petals drifting earthwards all around us, encasing us in a cage of flittering flowers. Roger had both arms encircling us, a smile- perhaps a genuine, fatherly smile- lifting his lips, transforming his face into something far more pleasant than what he had worn the previous time I had seen him.

The second, Roger and our mother, Calandra, in St. Mungo's, each holding a tiny bundle in their arms; looks of pure joy- and in our mother's case, fatigue- shining on their faces. This was the reason that I believed Roger _had_ loved us, but something had killed the love before we were even old enough to remember it.

Sirius looked up and met my neutral gaze; pain screamed at me through his eyes, glittering moisture clinging to his eyelashes. He actually cared about Hermione and I- no, I corrected myself sternly; he cares about my sister, I am just an extra he feels he must looks after.

Well, he didn't. He owed me nothing; the moment Hermione was conscious, the two of us would be gone, and these people would be nothing more than a memory.

One thing nagged at my mind however; if Roger decided to involve the Ministry, we would have a challenge to evade them, but somehow we would manage.

"Charlie…" Tonks- hadn't her hair purple a moment ago? I wondered as I stared at her pitch black hair, streaked with crimson- began, but I interrupted her.

"What? You think Hermione had always been cold and distant?" I asked them sourly, my words harsher than I intended. "She invented that facade when Roger began hurting her." Tonk's gaze sharpened as I said this.

"Why did she do this?" Tonk's appalled expression unnerved me; maybe they cared about Hermione more than I had first thought. I laughed again, the exclamation sounding foreign at its lack of feeling or humour.

"You think she chose to do it? The realisation that her own father loathed her was more agonising than anything _he _could have done to her- she sank into numbness when she was nine, ten, I cannot remember exactly, and she never resurfaced- she left her emotions behind because they made her vulnerable."

"And you did the same." Sirius stated grimly, noting the pathetic excuse for an emotion seep into my voice as I recalled how Hermione had first appeared after she 'changed'. I nodded, expressionless as usual.

The four could only shake their heads in shocked disbelief at their new-found knowledge; and I remained, statuesque, until they gave me my leave.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Darkness churning around my shoulder like wings, the feathers rustling with an imperceptible breeze that had no origin; its solidity was impenetrable and absolute; my instinct told me it couldn't be so, and yet my eyes insisted that I could reach out and slice the fog with a knife. Despite having stared into darkness almost every night for half a decade, my eyes were not as well accustomed to the lack of light as I would have hoped; as I peered ahead of me into the swirling darkness, I could only just differentiate my sister from the neighbouring wall; her limp, unconscious form melding into the greyness of the background with ease. She was still asleep, and for that I was glad; the two of us never slept; the nightmares we endured where at most times unbearable and we only did so when we were desperate, or Roger had knocked us unconscious. At such times we were too deeply asleep for our brains to create the nightmares -or more accurately, recollections of the recent past- so we slept undisturbed.

None such sleep could be given to me, however. There were two reasons for my consciousness tonight; the usual memories and suspicion. Whether Hermione trusted these people would only become apparent when she regained consciousness, and until that time I would remain watchful and guard my sister from these 'order' folk should they choose to attack.

A quiet creak wrenched my attention from my reminiscing and brought me back to the present. My vision may not have been perfect, but I could still see the door of the room I was situated in hesitantly leave the doorframe and reveal an angular square of blackness, the thickness of which I could not comprehend. A shadow detached itself from its lair, stalking across the room and into a slice of moonlight pouring from the unsheathed windows, stripping the intruder of his shadowy refuge.

Sirius Black.

His eyes roamed the room, his gaze finally resting on mine, causing him to jump backwards in surprise and stifle a yelp.

"What are you doing, awake?" He hissed, trying and failing to smother his guilty expression, which only confirmed my earlier fears.

"What are _you_ doing creeping in here?" I retorted, anxious to steer the conversation to other, more comfortable topics. Sirius sighed and strode the rest the room's width and sat down on the chair next to Hermione's bed.

"I was checking on Hermione and you." He explained reluctantly. "To see if you were still here."

The statement made me frown internally. Why wouldn't I still be here? Hermione needed to awaken before such thoughts even dared to cross my mind.

"Well I am," I breathed softly, keeping my voice low to avoid waking any of the other household occupants. "And so is Hermione. You can go now, then." Even as I uttered the words, I knew the man opposite wanted to say more.

Sirius inhaled deeply before replying.

"Charlie, I wanted to talk to you."

I groaned inwardly, but did not reply. Sirius continued. "You can trust me, Charlie. If there is anything that you could tell me that would help Hermione, please do- I know you want her safe."

My eyes closed of their own accord, and I pressed two fingers to the bridge of my nose, thoughts running through my mind at light-speed.

Should I tell him what I knew?

Should I not?

Would it affect my sister if I didn't?

What would Hermione do? I asked myself, attempting hard to put myself in her place.

Seconds later, my decision was made. I didn't like the pronouncement, but neither did I prefer the alternative.

I exhaled slowly, and then replied, "What is it you wish to know, Sirius?"

Relief flashed across the older man's face, but was rapidly smothered and replaced by sombre neutrality. "Anything that will aid us. When… when did it start?"

"For Hermione? When she was nine, maybe ten."

"Yourself?"

I sighed and answered as shortly as possible. "Later."

"What did he do to Hermione?"

"A number of things; mostly just physical abuse, some mental…" I faltered then and tore my gaze from Sirius's. "And, would you understand if I said she wasn't a virgin?"

Sirius was silent for several seconds, and then he growled. "So he was telling the truth."

My mask wavered slightly at his words, and the questioning glance I had been mechanically covering must have been evident on my face for a barest second, as he answered the inquiry that I had not uttered.

"Roger, after he stabbed me he told me several things that I will not forget, no matter how much time passes." Sirius winced and changed the subject. "And you? What did he do to you? I'm guessing it wasn't physical, as you have no bruises."

Oh, how much I wished he were correct.

**Kingsley **

Somewhere in the ancient house, a clock chimed once. One o'clock. Relief washed over me as I stretched my cramped muscles; only four hours to go before the shift switch and I could retire to my allocated room. That was a side-affect to being a member of the Order, you never had an actual sleeping area, as injured were brought in around the clock, demanding places to rest. Even now, at this early hour, I could hear Tonks and Ginny downstairs, tending to an injured member who had been ambushed by Death Eaters. I winced as my knuckles cracked when I shifted my hands; echoing off of the bare, undecorated walls, and resumed my position at the crest of the stairs. My patrol consisted of only the top floor; Remus was occupied with the corridor below and Arthur was situated on the Ground. Even though Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was certainly the most protected of all our hideouts, an Order member was always assigned a floor to watch during the night; especially as this was our Head Quarters and contained precious documents and artefacts that could at no cost be given to the wrong hands.

Another yawn sneaked past my lips, appearing thunderous in the compressing silence. A soft, barely perceptible noise reached my ears and I paused; frozen, straining my ears hard to try and catch more of the sound. Another note wafted towards me, and this time it appeared to be voices, issuing from Charlie and Hermione's room. Had Hermione woken up?

I padded across the thick, bloodstained carpet- I was constantly diverting my thoughts from _who_ the blood had come from- with the stealth of the experienced; I regularly commanded raids upon the Death Eaters, and had adopted the skill of silence. I halted outside the slightly ajar door and pressed my ear to it hesitantly.

"Roger, after he stabbed, me told me several things I will not forget, no matter how much time passes." I felt a jolt of relief as I recognised Sirius's voice. Clearing my mind, I realised several seconds had passed, and the voices were speaking again.

"… Roger hurt me physically, but not in the same way as Hermione." The response was harsh and sharp, as if they were irritated, but speaker's voice held no emotion at all; it must be Charlie.

"What did he do, you Charlie?"

Silence met Sirius's words.

I sighed inwardly; we needed to know these things, but Charlie was refusing to co-operate, what was there that he could possibly hide? We already knew of the beatings, so what did he not want us to know; was it humiliating? Abruptly, my attention was wrenched back to my present situation, and at first I couldn't comprehend the reason, but then voices floated towards me and I realised that Charlie and Sirius had begun talking again.

"I don't know why Roger abused us, but I know that he didn't always hate us- you've seen the picture; for the first few years of our existence, he loved us; the happiness on his face when he was holding Hermione in the hospital picture couldn't have been acted, could it?" I could hear the desperation in Charlie's voice; he wanted Sirius to agree with him, tell him he was right; and really, I reasoned, who wouldn't crave some consolation in Charlie's position?

"I can remember how it used to be; how happy my sister was; yes, she was always ill- back then I didn't believe that having a single bed and a thin blanket to share between us was wrong, of course now I do- but she was never sad; every memory I have of her back then was adorned with her special smile."

_Back then._ I felt a pang of pity for the two Granger children; they would probably never lead better lives, even if they left their father behind, their memories would forever haunt them.

"He has used all manner of punishment upon us; broken bottles, pieces of sharp, shattered objects, ropes, even knives once or twice. Hermione always received the harsher end of the punishments and I hated my own weakness. It was another thing she had forced me to swear; that I would not interfere if I saw her being hurt by Roger.

"That was far worse than anything Roger could ever have done to me- seeing her thrown to the floor and kicked; and knowing she would hate me if I stepped forward to stall our father, but detesting myself for doing nothing. Roger would always recall such times with satisfaction whenever we were alone and he was"- Charlie stopped then, swallowed and continued, leaving the end of the last sentence unanswered. "She taught me how to protect myself, embrace the numbness that always lurked just beyond my consciousness instead of resisting it; the key to leaving feeling behind. Together we had gained an advantage over Roger, but we began to lose ourselves because of it."

It was then that I began to realise the extent of the damage that had been inflicted upon the two, and what they had been driven to do in order to live through it.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

A/N:** hope you like it and REVIEW! As always. **

**Next chapter thing will be an author note, so you'll find out my new penname! It's not that bad actually…. **

_**G**_**P**


	6. Secret Conversations

Chapter Six-

A/N:** I'm back after my absence (sorry for the wait, Christmas, birthday, that kind of thing kept me really busy…) oh, and late verbal Christmas cards to you all. Here's chapter six…**

**Oh, and a tip for you: pay attention to the days at the top of certain paragraphs. **

Disclaimer: **Ha! I now own Harry Potter! Bow to my glory! (No, please don't sue me, lawyer… people.)**

-Tomorrows Dust: **I've sent you a reply, but I am interested to know; when you sign in, do they just appear or what? Please inform me, it would be pleasant to find my one. **

-Googlibear: **Ah, very observant of you; I think you're the only one who asked that question; Charlie didn't get a letter, and you'll find out why in maybe the next chapter. And thank-you for the birthday wishes, the first of a few! **

-Anastasia Trombly: **Sorry, I'd forgotten Ron had an older brother called Charlie! No, this is a fictional character of my own creation; this is Hermione's twin brother, not Ron's. And ta for the name-changing information, have you done it yourself? **

**Sirius **

_Wednesday, 11:55pm _

Four days. Five. Six turned into a whole, agonising week. Seven laborious days I sat at Hermione's bedside, waiting anxiously for her to wake up and relieve me of the persistent, unending worry that perched upon my shoulders. It was a huge, looming bird, peering over the crest of my head and whispering in my ear; the poisonous webs of words weaving into my thoughts, feasting upon my certainty and fuelling my doubts.

I was beginning to silently wonder if Hermione would ever wake up.

My thoughts must have shown clearly on my face though, as Tonks- who, having a degree in medimagic, qualified as the Order's mediwitch. She was teaching Ginny and several others the basics of the magic of medicine in any spare time she had- had diagnosed Hermione with nothing more than mass lethargy and minor blood loss; and had confidently assured me that Hermione was as fine as possible in her situation. This hadn't helped much, but my sister had given her unconscious patient small doses of Nutrient and Blood Supplement Potions each day, coupled with a simple body repairing charm, to help Hermione speed the recovery. I suspected that Tonks had ordered Hermione to be given such potions more to consolidate me, rather than to help Hermione, yet it failed to ease my trepidation.

After seeing her almost every holiday for over three years, alive and well; it hurt to know that it had all been an act; every word she had spoken, every expression she had ever worn had been forced; it hadn't come to her naturally like it should have done- she had had to think through every small detail of her public life to the minority, so that we could be blissfully ignorant of what happened behind the closed doors of Angel House.

Despite Charlie being sure that everything Hermione had done in company had been a lie, I was still remaining adamant that her concern for everything had been genuine; it was the one thing that had flowed from her with ease; it was apparent in everything she did; she was a dark and contemplating character, but she had always looked after everything around her.

A soft note reached my ear, wrenching me from the memories that I so wished to drown in; to go back to before I knew of Hermione's secret, double lifestyle; before the indissoluble guilt- that I had talked to Hermione, consoled her, watched her progression and never once imagined her life to be any different from her friends around her- washed over me and refused to relinquish its hold.

Silence echoed around me and I resettled into the all too familiar chair once more and prepared to delve into my reminiscent thoughts. I allowed myself to drift; behind my closed eyelids, a thousand pictures replayed themselves to me…

Moments later I sat up, ears positively twitching as I heard the noise again. My eyes roved the walls and the black, cob-webbed swathed corners as I searched for the sound.

I heard it again.

The fourth time I heard it, I realised it came from below me, and I dropped onto all fours to peer into the impenetrable darkness underneath the beds. It came again; but this time above me.

My head peeped over the edge of the mattress and I stared at the motionless lump lying, concealed, under the voluminous duvet; hardly daring to mentally suggest the possibility of the sound's origin.

"Hermione?" My voice was unexpectedly hoarse- as if I had been shouting for hours- as I uttered her name.

The oppressing silence hammered at my insides as I waited with baited breath for what I wanted most in the world to happen, but feared that it never would.

With a twitch and an indecipherable murmur, Hermione opened her eyes.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Tuesday, 9:15pm_

Charlie was proving troublesome.

Three days ago he had told us all that he could, and then locked himself in his room, refusing to acknowledge our calls.

By Tuesday I'd had enough.

The boy had no doubt layered the door with so many charms and spells that it probably now resembled a cake, so entering via that entrance was a discarded suggestion.But he possibly hadn't done this to- or, indeed noticed- the small ventilation shaft set into the wall, concealed by a mouldy yet vicious wardrobe. Standing at two feet high with a length of one and a half, it didn't possess enough space to allow a human to pass through it, which may have been the reason that Charlie had discarded it as a probable 'attack' route.

But a _dog_ was a different matter.

Which was why I; Sirius Black was in my Animagus form, inching my way through a dust-clogged shaft in the middle of the afternoon. (Not to say that I would have been any less reluctant to do said dust-shuffling at any other time of the day.)

Light filtered through the ventilation cover, leached of its colour by the thick film of grey powder clinging to the bars of the guard, so that I was surrounded by a swathe of semi-twilight. Despite the poor vision, it did allow a slightly obscured view of the room, hampered only by the snarling wardrobe that had lived in my parent's house for almost twenty years (and in my opinion, was much in need of a permanent holiday to the second-hand shop).

The peeling wall-paper, decorated with picture frames; only several occupied- the present inhabitants either snoozing or observing the workings of the room with unconcealed distaste.

"What are you _doing_ boy?" The horrified screech could only have belonged to the portrait of Cleopatra Black, my _very_ distant aunt. This exclamation was unusual; she normally preferred disdain to concern- disgusted as it was. I could only assume that it was referring to Charlie; unless my dear painted aunt had taken to acknowledging the fellow paintings that surrounded her and decided to have a chat with them (which was about as likely as Florida freezing over.)

"What does it look like?" Charlie's answer confirmed my suspicions, but only enlarged my curiosity; from my visual position, I couldn't see Hermione's brother.

"You could hurt yourself." Charlie snorted, and I could hear the implications behind the words; _yeah, right._

"Spoil your already filthy carpets you mean."

"You are a disgrace, boy! I said nothing of the sort; you befoul the name of this household by saying such lies! Associating with mudbloods and blood traitors too no doubt…"

A Charlie-like silence greeted my aunt's ranting, and I had to smile; dear Cleo never did like children or obvious rebellion against her authority, which was possibly the cause for her untimely death- she screamed herself black when a child in her supervising session selected a pear from the fruit bowl instead of the apple she suggested (Several maids had to sedate her with various potent charms; which resulted in her being submitted to St. Mungo's due to a spell overdose.)

I was still perplexed by the conversation; why did auntie Cleo sound so horrified? What had Charlie done to make the painting feel so?

"_You could hurt yourself."_

"_Spoil your already filthy carpets you mean."_

Cold rushed over me as I recalled that day, a week previously, when I had first seen Charlie; the t-shirt, the cuts and scars running the entire length of his arms, too many to not be deliberate- old and more recent ones grouped together; some of them neat and orderly, whilst others were jagged and deep, as if he had closed his eyes as he did them…

Suddenly all I wanted was to be away from the room, away from emotionless form of a boy I'd only known for a week, away from the words that I didn't want to hear.

Even as I crawled back through the tunnel, jumped the short drop from the shaft's exit to the floor, transformed back into Sirius Black; hurtled down the un-carpeted stairway and out of the door, I could still hear Charlie's and Cleo's voices ringing in my head.

"_You could hurt yourself."_

"_Yeah, right."_

I knew why I had really wanted to leave as quickly as possible; I could tell myself and others as many times as I wanted that I didn't want to be close to a person who intentionally hurt themselves, but it wouldn't make them anything more than empty statements.

I didn't know where I was going, I didn't care; all I wanted was to leave Grimmauld place far behind.

But as I ran blindly down the road, streetlights, passing cars and houses melding together in a blur around me, I couldn't stop one mental thought from circulating my brain- making me flinch with the intensity of the truth of it- couldn't stop it from leaving my lips and being spoken out loud as I ran.

"Not him too."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

A/N: **Hermione woke up! I knew we'd get there in the end. **

**So that's chapter five (or four- I can't remember…) quite good- I hope- and I'll be trying to get the next one up very soon. But you know what, if the wait's **_**too**_** long, you could always, I don't know, review? Just a suggestion… **

_**A**_**T**


	7. Panic

**Chapter Seven **

A/N: **Another day, another chapter…. Oh, and I don't know if anyone noticed because it wouldn't have shown up on your alerts), but I replaced the 'penname chapter' with a proper one, so reading that one first **_**may**_** help you understand just what's going on in this one… **

Disclaimer: **I own nada. **

**My faithful reviewers: **

-Tomorrows Dust

- Googlibear

-Allamonalla

-Slytherin Lycan

-Anastasia Trombly

-Me

**Make it a longer list people! (You know you want to).**

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_**Wednesday, 11:56pm **_

_**Flashback **_

"_Hermione?" My voice was unexpectedly hoarse- as if I'd been shouting for hours-when I uttered her name. _

_With a twitch and an undecipherable murmur, Hermione opened her eyes. _

……………………………………..

Without pausing to think or comprehend what was going on, I leapt from Charlie's bed and enveloped Hermione in a tight, bone-cracking embrace.

"Sirius?" she mumbled blearily into my shoulder.

"It's me," I whispered to her, hardly daring to breathe in case I shattered this fragile scene; if I was asleep, I didn't want to wake up. "You're okay now."

As I said the words, Hermione stiffened and slowly loosened my arms from around her.

She glanced at me and then quickly looked away, unable to hold my gaze.

"You know." Was all she said; she didn't need to say anything else, it all existed in those two words.

"Yes."

She sat up laboriously; her breath hissing from between her teeth with every movement.

"That'll be your broken ribs," I explained; I had spent the last week thinking up what I was going to say to her, and now that she was awake I no longer remembered what I was planning on saying. "Tonks repaired the fractures, but the bruising will probably fade around next week." I flinched unconsciously as an image rose unbidden to the surface of my thoughts; of the numerous cuts and bruises that had lined Hermione's arms, legs and torso we had revealed when removing Hermione oversized shirt when she first came to Grimmauld place a week previously.

I must have been staring into space long enough for Hermione to notice, even in her semi-conscious state, as she placed a delicate hand on my arm. I snapped back to the presence and looked at her.

"What's the matter Sirius?" She whispered. I still refused to look into her eyes; I knew what I would see if I looked up; Hermione's cold, blank gaze, devoid of any emotion and identical to Charlie's.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips when she said that. "What's the matter? I found out a week ago that the girl I'd known for four years and means a hell of a lot to me has gotten beaten time and time again by her father's hand and she let him get away with it.

"For seven days I've sat, begging for that girl to wake up; worry corroding my insides; all the while disbelief was my only companion. _How_ could you let him do that to you, Hermione? And don't bother trying to convince me it isn't true- I've seen the bruises. You're such a powerful witch; so talented, and all this time, for god knows how many years, you been letting that bastard push you around like a rag doll."

Hermione's eyes flashed, but then the anger died and her shoulders slumped, her entire frame collapsing like shattered glass.

"What would you have had me do, Sirius?" She sighed. "What do you think would have worked?" Her voice was desperate yet challenging.

"I would have told someone." I replied defiantly.

"I did once; a woman- Scarlet Showers, her name was- who lived across the street. I showed her the marks of my father's wrath, and she promised she would go to the police the next day, and let me and Charlie stay in her spare bedroom for the night.

"We found her the next morning; ripped to pieces with knife wounds and marks of physical abuse. She'd been butchered by Roger's allies. We'd killed an innocent woman by telling her what happened to us; she had been young- probably would have been in her early thirties by now if she was alive- kind and genuine. And Charlie and I had murdered her for our own benefit. After that we vowed that we would never let anyone know what happened to us, however unbearable the beatings were, I would never allow my father to hurt someone else instead."

My mouth opened, but I couldn't form a credible retort.

"I, I just… I'm sorry." I said finally, stumbling over the words. I kept my eyes on my knees while I said it, refusing to look up and stare into the face of the girl I cared for so much, but had failed when she needed me most. Cool fingers gently pushed my head upwards until my eyes met hers. "I'm sorry for not saving you, Hermione, for abandoning you to _him._"

"I want you to listen to me Sirius," She whispered fiercely, her gaze sparking with ferocity. "What happened to me wasn't your fault. I deliberately didn't tell you, because it would have got you killed. I don't want you to end up like Scarlet, Sirius, you mean too much to me for that to happen."

I didn't know why, but Hermione's words stirred a powerful feeling deep in my chest. It strengthened at each word, and I yearned for her to continue, to feel this feeling that I had rapidly become attached to.

"You mean a lot to me too, Hermione." I saw something in her gaze then, something that transformed her face, making it look utterly… emotional- the complete opposite of her brothers. I winced when Charlie's dead face swam into my vision. I tried to smother the reaction, but even drowsy, Hermione was still alert and noticed the movement.

"What, Sirius?"

I conjured a smile, and looked down into her intrigued brown eyes. "Nothing, nothing at all. We should let everyone else know that you're awake."

Her eyes brightened at my words. "Of course! Who's here?"

"Almost every member of the order is around; Ron, Harry, Ginny… "

"What, what about… "Hermione faltered, and I guessed what she was about to say immediately."What about Charlie?"

My voice came out harsher than I intended, and I regretted speaking at all at the sight of the flash of pain on Hermione's face when I spoke. "If you're referring to the brother we didn't know you had then yes, he's…well."

"Where is he? I need to talk to him. "

I wanted to tell her, but my words imploded in my throat, making me cough. I couldn't do it. I couldn't watch her face fall; a gesture I knew without asking was too familiar to her.

"Sirius? Where's Charlie?" Hermione was panicked now; I could tell she was by the tremor in her voice- my eyes were closed, sealed tightly to block out the words I did not want to hear. "Where's my brother?"

I didn't have the heart to tell her where he was.

A/N: **I'm sorry, it's really short, but I had to end it there- hopefully an acceptable cliff-hanger; if not, tough! **

**I'll be updating whenever I've thought of what to write- you know, act like I actually have a plot… oh, and the dates mean A LOT, so registered them please! They'll help, because the next chapter will be the day before this… confusing I know, but it'll (hopefully) become clearer soon. **

_**A**_**T**


	8. Tuesday

Disclaimer: **I don't claim. **

_Tuesday, 9:25 pm_

**Sirius**

The streets were splashed with orange at irregular intervals, looking like an abstract artists' bad day. The streetlamps all stood like immobile sentries; their blank, impassive heads hollow where the bulbs had been shattered into thousands of glittering fragments that lay in circles around each one by numerous thugs and easily amused adolescents. The entire street was desolate, vacant of all movement.

Except me of course.

I'd sprinted for what I guessed would be ten or so minutes. I would have gone further, but my left foreleg pained me- it had since I was a teenager, and it prevented me from going anywhere too far- and I had been forced to stop.

I could tell myself a thousand times that I had run away from Grimmauld place because I knew Charlie was a self-harmer and nothing else, but I knew the real reason, and it gnawed away at my insides, leaving ragged, gaping holes in it's wake.

I didn't want him lose what was so precious to him.

Like I did.

**Charlie**

It was times like this that I craved being under the open sky, watching the stars glitter like tiny, distant fires- unquenchable and everlasting- and to listen to the passive rustles of wind passing between the leaves on the trees.

I loved night.

I loved the comforting darkness that enveloped you like a close friend, the sleepy chirps of settling birds, the thousands of layers of noise that draped over each other in a perfectly sequenced piece of music. Rather like a trifle, if you're feeling optimistic.

Which I wasn't, and couldn't remember the last time I had been.

I think the thing I really wanted was silence; the constant banter in Grimmauld place was incessant, and left no space for thought- with all the continuous noise, it was easy to sneak out and escape, given that I'd locked myself in the room and all.

I didn't recognise the neighbourhood around me, but I remembered the way back, so I wasn't concerned; I stopped walking after an estimated guess of ten minutes or so and leant heavily against a dark wall built of inexpensive-but-sturdy brick, slowly my breathing and concentrating on nothing but my heartbeat. Al my senses faded away, until I was just _there_, just existing, nothing else. Peace, finally.

Which was probably why I didn't feel the presence until it barrelled into me with incredible force, sending me sprawling.

I sprang to my feet and turned towards my assailant, but hands wrapped around my waist and mouth and dragged me backwards into the omnipresent gloom of the buildings.

"Stop squirming you idiot." I stilled as I recognised the hiss in my ear. The fingers were peeled away from my lips, allowing me to utter one whispered word.

"Sirius?"

I was spun around roughly and shoved back against the wall, Sirius's coal-black eyes boring furiously into mine.

"Death Eaters." Sirius breathed, his eyes still glowing with anger. He turned his attention back to me. "What the hell do think you're doing Charlie?"

"I didn't follow you." I retorted defiantly.

I could see in his eyes that that wasn't what he'd been asking, but I didn't have a clue what else it could be. Except…

I saw his eyes stray to my T-shirt-clad arms and back up to meet mine.

He knew.

I was sure he'd suspected my habitfrom the moment I walked through the door, but what had surprised me was that he had never brought the issue up, never told anyone else. As far as I could tell anyway.

"I know what I'm doing Sirius." I said quietly, but I knew he heard me, even over the rain that had begun cascading from the clouds I hadn't seen or the cars rushing passed us, not sparing our enclosed alley a furtive glance. "And it's really not any of your business what happening to me anyway." I didn't intend for it to sound so implicative, but I couldn't help it; and I couldn't take it back.

"What's that supposed to mean Charlie?" Sirius demanded. "That I don't care what the fuck happens in your life? 'Cos I do."

I couldn't suppress the snort, but then again, maybe I didn't really want to. "You care about Hermione, I'm just added luggage that you feel you need to look after, but you don't." I paused, and added, almost to myself; "I don't blame you either."

Sirius grabbed my shoulders- ignoring my wince as the pressure set sensitive skin burning- and shook me slightly. "Look, whatever you think about yourself, Hermione is your sister and I care about both of you. But this hurting yourself thing-" He broke off and lowered his gaze, breathing deeply. I readied myself to tune out a lecture I fully expected to follow. "Just… just be careful about how you go about it, okay?"

I blinked, momentarily allowing emotion to slip through the wall I'd built around myself. That wasn't what I'd been imagining. Sirius glanced around the corner of the alley, evidently deemed it safe to emerge and turned on his heel to stare at the nearest obliterated light without really seeing it, standing statuesque in the newly risen moon.

I shuffled towards him and stopped level with him, keeping my gaze on the asphalt under my feet.

"You're not the first cutter I've met you know," Sirius said softly. "And I'm pretty sure you won't be the last."

I opened my mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say, so I closed it again; silence was a familiar I knew well, but speechlessness was rare to me and felt foreign as I turned it over in my head. We remained in companionable silence for countless minutes, until a thought rose in my mind and refused to be pushed away.

"How… who do you know?" I was half-hoping that Sirius wouldn't understand, but he did.

"My best friend," Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "James had many worries- problems if you like- that only I knew about; if you asked a former teacher or fellow student of his, they would have sworn he was a happy person who was always laughing and joking with his friends. Only I ever saw the darker side of him- he made himself smile and laugh along with everybody, but inside he was always crying. He never let any of his emotions or thoughts leave him, and the knife he kept with him was his only escape from them."

I didn't say anything, and Sirius carried on.

"I didn't judge him at all- we all have issues we can't talk about, only some are worse than others- and many nights of my Hogwarts years were spent with him, letting him tell me everything that he didn't want anyone to know, the stuff he'd kept locked away deep inside him for so many years. I could see it hurt him more every day, but I couldn't do more than listen to the problems, and it tore me apart.

"His friends were never really his friends-he never let anyone apart from me close to him- they just all thought he did.

Charlie? Swear to me that you won't tell Harry; he doesn't need to know."

He fell silent as I nodded and I didn't press him; I didn't want to know anything else. Abruptly, Sirius started walking, and instinctively, I began to follow.

"I'm not telling you to stop, Charlie," He said softly as we walked. "I haven't got any right to say that." I halted as he uttered the words, and it took him several steps to realised I wasn't beside him. He didn't say anything, just returned my darkly curious gaze.

"You…" My voice faltered as something occurred to me suddenly. "You-"

Sirius didn't get to hear what I said next, because a hulking blue bus hurtled round the corner and hit me at full speed, drowning out my words and reducing my world to blackness.

A/N: **Ugh, I'm so sorry I didn't update sooner, but my computer was infected with more than two hundred viruses, so I couldn't go on it for about four weeks. Yep, I would have made this longer, but can you really not leave it there?! Review!**

_**A**_**T**


	9. The Mo Bill Fone

DracolikesototallyROCKS: **Yes, a bus.**

Slytherin-Lycan

Allamonella

ProperT: Did I actually mention what bus it was? If I didn't, I like your deduction skills… and I agree, poor kid! I'm cruel, I know…

xxBuffyfreakxx

**For all you physics-freaks out there, my calculations are ****inaccurate, illogical and just plain invented, okay! ****Oh, and the little mini '1' is a link thing-if you didn't know, and it's at the bottom. Bit of a short chapter this one, but I rather like it. **

Disclaimer: **I don't claim anything of this story- except for Charlie Granger, the big blue bus and Roger, but I don't really want him… I'm putting him up for sale to pay my rent if anyone wants him… **

_**Wednesday 12:00am**_

**Sirius **

Hermione's face broke my heart. 

Unlike her brother, Hermione let some a sparse amount of emotion show on her face, and what I could see was hurting me far deeply than any physical wound ever could. 

Eventually, after she had demanded my reply, I'd conceded and told her about Charlie; whatever she'd been expecting, I was as sure as hell that it wasn't that. 

And I could hardly blame her; in the wizarding world, you didn't usually walk around with the danger of getting hit by something; they were minor injuries, seen as broken bones could be mended in a heartbeat. 

But Charlie had been fragile anyway, and it was- ironically- the Knight Bus, and the Knight Bus wasn't your average kind of vehicle.1 

The basic explanation is that the Knight has to weigh more than the average bus- around twice as much- otherwise it won't travel according to the earth's magic field (something involving atoms- I think) and it has to build up terrific amounts of speed to be able to pass through the tears in the field. So, a witch or wizard colliding with an _average, _Muggle bus isn't exactly front-page news, but the Knight Bus? That's something else entirely. 

So, Charlie was currently residing in St. Mungo's, with a recently healed collar-bone, several shattered plates in his skull, numerous ribs and two fingers. And a broken pelvis. And that was just the bones. 

Nasty, in other words. 

"How… how bad are his injuries?" Hermione whispered hoarsely. I bit my lip and looked away. "Sirius." The vulnerable tone disintegrated into a fierce order. 

"I'm not exactly sure, but as far as I know, there's no extensive damage or anything, but some muscles were torn and there are lots of deep cuts that will need stitches."

Of, course I wasn't going to tell her about the punctures to his lung and stomach or the haemorrhaging …. 

The Healers had described Charlie's condition as critical and hadn't been able to stabilise him, but my information was several hours stale, so anything could have happened between when Tonks Flooed from the St. Mungo's to tell me and now. Everybody had gone except me with Charlie to the hospital, leaving me to watch over the then comatose-stricken Hermione at the eerily quiet Grimmauld Place. 

An unfamiliar weight settled on my chest, and it took me a moment to realise that Hermione had wrapped her frail arms around my neck and laid her head on my torso, her breathing deep, monotonic against me. My arms slowly encircled her shoulders and I rested my chin on the top of her head, a wary sense of ease sweeping through me. Millenniums slipped passed as I sat with Hermione draped across my legs, rocking her slowly, almost unconsciously, until a faint, persisting ring made me raise my head. 

"Sirius?" Hermione looked up at me questioningly. I shrugged and stood up, glancing out of the door and down the hallway curiously. 

Then it clicked. 

"It's Tonks!" I practically yelled as I flew down the stairs, Hermione a step behind me. I burst into the vacant kitchen and my eyes were drawn to the kitchen table, where an alien object sat, moving around slowly like a three-legged insect. Except it didn't have any legs at all, just a body that emitted strange whirring chirps. 

I studied it warily as it continued to scuttled around the table's surface, occasionally changing colour, patches of it flashing white, then melding into blue, then green in rapid succession. Slowly, I reached out and poked it, then leapt backwards immediately, in case it decided to retort. 

"Sirius, what are you doing?" Hermione was looking at me incredulously, like I was behaving in the most bemusing manner, but I wasn't; I mean, there was a huge black legless bug on the table! 

"Well, you're the book expert, what is it?" 

"Sirius," Hermione said, slowly and deliberately, as if she were talking to a clueless child. "It's a mobile phone." 

"Hmm, I see. And what do these, 'Mo Bill Fones' do exactly?" I asked as she picked the insect up. It continued to whir, but the moving ceased altogether. Hermione shook her head despairingly at me and with one flick, sliced the Mo Bil Fone in half and put it to her ear. Immediately, the whirring noises stopped, as if she had cast a 'Silencio' charm. "Hello? Tonks?" Hermione was _talking_ into it. _What the hell is she doing? _I thought silently as I stared at her. "Oh, Kingsley you want to speak to Sirius?" 

Kingsley?

Hermione handed me the 'Mo Bil Fone' and told me to put it next to my ear. I obliged, still bemused. And jumped out of my skin when Kingsley's voice sounded in my ear as clearly as if he was standing next to me. 

"Sirius, was that Hermione I just heard?" Kingsley sounded disbelieving and faintly hopeful simultaneously. "Never mind- I was calling to tell you Charlie is doing much better." 

If I had been a dog, my ear would have pricked upwards comically, but as I wasn't, I had to suffice with looking slightly more alert and asking, "How much so?" in an interested tone. 

"Most of his bones have mended; the Healer said they had to do it in six hour intervals because of the drug he has to swallow to heal them. The punctures are going to be repaired tomorrow- he's been booked into a theatre for two o'clock- and the swelling is receding swiftly. The Healer said he should wake up after the operation." 

"That's great news, Kingsley," I said, relieved. "Thank you for using the Mo Bill Fone and telling me."

"The what? On further thought, don't tell me, I'm not sure I'll understand." Kingsley's voice was dry and humorous, and it struck me just how worried about Charlie he must have been. How everyone had been. 

Jesus, the Order had only know him for what, less than a week? Ten days? More? I couldn't remember exactly, but they were already so attached to him. 

_Like I was. _

I clicked the bug thing closed and gave it back to an anxious Hermione hovering beside me. 

"Well?" She demanded, and when I didn't answer immediately she glared hotly at me. "Is he going to be okay?" 

I smiled warmly at her and replied, "He's going to be fine- almost all of his fractures are repaired, the punctures will be treated tomorrow and the other stuff is mending. The Healers even said he might wake up after the operation." 

Hermione relieved grin sent my heart reeling. She threw her arms around my neck again and unexpectedly kissed me. 

Don't get ahead of yourselves out there; it was just a happy, friend's kiss that you exchange when you get really good news. 

So why was my heart thumping painfully against my chest and my head becoming light with lack of oxygen as I forgot to breathe?

I shook the unnerving thoughts from my head and looked down at her beaming face. She was actually happy; for the first time I could remember, there was a full, real smile on her lips.

I opened my mouth to say something, but then instantly forgot what I was going to say and closed it again. I lowered my gaze to the floor and after several seconds, I felt Hermione's cool fingers under my chin, lifting it up. 

"Sirius?" she said softly. "I'm hungry."

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

Hermione was asleep. 

Lucky her. 

With everything that had happened today, I couldn't force the recollections and thoughts away to some remote corner of my mind where I could ignore them. 

_Hermione's face when I told her of Charlie's accident… _

_The genuine happiness when she heard Kingsley's news… _

_The feel of her lips under mine-_

No. 

Not that. I'm a grown man; she is a young, tortured girl that is vulnerable. How could I think such obscene thoughts when Hermione had been through so much?

Sick, sick _sick man. _

Stop this now Sirius. 

To distract myself, I meandered listlessly through the deserted Grimmauld Place- the oppressing silence was unnerving, but it helped to block out the terrible thoughts that I was having, thoughts I wasn't allowed to have… 

I wandered into Charlie's room. The curtains swished as the breeze from the open window caught them and made them flutter, whispering almost silently. 

_You filthy person. _

_How can you even face Hermione after remembering what her friendship kiss was like and __**enjoying **__it?_

_It's not my fault,_ I thought desperately, turning around the room insanely as things leered through the darkness at me. _It's not my fault. _

_Why not?_

_Because you're a disgusting person, _

_Not fit to interact with human beings. To talk to people like you're normal. _

_Stop pretending to be like everyone else. You're not. _

_Run away, pervert and hide where we won't have to see you. _

"I'm sorry!" I yelled at the empty room, my voice, layered with anger and terror, and most of all, guilt. Guilt because I knew what they were saying was true. 

_Of course it's true, _the room whispered back, the poisonous words seeping through my skin into my body, leeching away the happiness, the sanity… 

Am I finally, after all this time, after everything, going crazy? 

I collapsed in a crumpled, broken heap on the floor and let the accusing voices swallow me in a mar of vile words, every single syllable picked from the part of my brain that a stowed all my buried guilt and thoughts I wanted no-one to ever see. 

I wept as the darkness consumed me. 

I found the book later, when time had eroded most of the night and frail, diluted light punctured the room's darkness. 

Charlie's room's whispering voices had receded with the dark, and I was now capable of standing and drying my damp face. I _cried._ I never, under any circumstances, allow myself to cry. 

I felt so _weak. _

That's when I spotted the book. 

It was almost obscured by Charlie's pillow, but one centimetre of one corner protruded, and to any with Animagus-enhanced eyesight, was easily seen. With unexplained trepidation, I pulled it out. 

It was a notebook- not a poncy, twenty-page one you could buy down at the card shop, but a thick, five-year-diary really- bound with its original gold clasp. Spell-o-tape and even string held lose pages that threatened to fall out at any moment. It was battered, as if it had been thrown across rooms too many times for it to take in its rather short life -it had 2003 written on the left corner in neat gold print. But it wasn't the colour or the word on the cover that caught my eye. 

It was the blood spattered on the spine, front and back covers. 

With growing unease, I unclipped the clasp and leafed slowly through pages. After several pages, my speed increased in my desperation until I was practically grabbing the pages and throwing them over. Every page was written in with elegant red calligraphy, some neatly, others scrawled as if the writer's hand had been shaky when he wrote it.

Every page was like the cover; spattered with blood of different levels of age. 

I flicked to the last page that had been written on and read the date: Monday 2008. The back cover was visible from where I was reading, and I caught the name written in the same handwriting as the rest of the diary, journal, whatever it was. 

_Charlie Granger. _

I'd known anyway, but seeing his name written there in front of my eyes made me choke and cough, pain coursing through my chest. 

Charlie had written this, covered every page with his blood. 

Part of me screamed to drop the book and run, leaving the diary and its contents alone. 

Another didn't. It wanted to read what Charlie had felt when he had cut himself, his thoughts, the feelings that he never allowed himself to express. The words he never let himself say to anyone. 

That part won. 

Tenderly, with the care of a parent holding an infant, I began to read. To read with the energy I didn't know I possessed. 

The energy that forced me to continued reading even when I was numb with horror. 

A/N: **Bit of suspense to leave you reeling there readers. **

**And to all you out there who actually care what happens in this story and aren't jus reading this to consolidate me, I can't decide whether to type Charlie's diary entries as a single chapter or as individual short chapters that last per entry- the first will mean it will take a while to update but you'll get it all in one go, or I can do quicker updates with shorter chapters- it's up to you out there. Yeah, review and tell me what you think- it would help a lot. **

_**A**_**T**

1- but that's a pretty unnecessary statement; it's not exactly hard to figure out that a bus that can travel across continents in a single moment might be _just a little bit special. _


	10. August 2003

A/N: **See, nobody displayed any preferences, so I had to decide- so if it's rubbish or not the way you lot out there wanted it- not my fault! **

Disclaimer: **I don't claim.**

**-Allamonalla**

**-Slytherin-Lycan**

**-ShyDarkness**

**-Lalabella. 321**

**-Vixengreen**

_**31st August 2003, **_

_He's hurting her again. _

_I can't feel anything anymore; I'm dead inside- a walking corpse. I need to feel something, if not for me, for my sister. She too important to forget, but now I'm losing all the memories I've ever had of her- all the thoughts, the feelings, the conversations we've had. _

_And now _**He's **_hurting her again. _

_How many years now? Three? Four? Defiantly no more than four, but still four too many. _**He's**_meant to be looking after her, not causing so much pain. He's ruined her life- she won't ever be able to walk near a grown man without fear eating at her insides; won't be able to work in close proximity to any male people. Will consider every movement they make a threat to her safety. To her life. _

**He's**_caused this. _

_He doesn't care any more; we're just two things that are responsible for his wife's death, but it wasn't our fault, was it? She died in childbirth, so maybe it was. _

"You killed you own mother…" 

_The words I hear every time he hits me._ "Murderer…" 

_I can't feel anything, so I cut today. I don't what made me do it, but I needed to feel something, even if it were pain. _

_The cut will probably scar- but it won't matter will it?_

_Just another to add to the collection _**he**_gave me. _

**C **

Charlie… 

Why did you do it? Wasn't it enough that Roger hurt you, but now you hurt yourself too? Why don't you care that he does that to you? Do you not think you matter?

Of course he matters. He matters to me, and I'll never let Roger near him again. 

But Charlie's right, isn't he? Hermione won't ever be able to work with male adults at all. 

Oh, Hermione. I'm so sorry.

So sorry that I didn't get to you fast enough. Sorry that I let that happen to you and never once suspected anything. 

**Next chapter will be up tomorrow- if, that is, I get nice reviews from people wanting to know what happens… **

**Review, **

_**A**_**T**


	11. September 2003

**I got some nice reviews, so here you are- the next installment of Charlie's Diary. **

_**2**__**nd**__** September 2003, **_

I_ did it again. Right under the first scar. __**He **__threw a bottle at me today, and I used the smashed glass when he'd gone. _

_It didn't work. _

_I felt nothing. Nothing at all. I'm desperate now- my memories of my sister are slipping away like water held in a cupped hand- they're the only thing a have left, what will become when they are disappear? I am already nothing, so will I just cease to exist completely? _

_I'm not scared by that prospect- I no longer remember what fear feels like, I haven't felt emotions in such a long time- I could die right now if I wanted to. _

_But I can't. My sister needs me- how could I be so selfish as to take the easy way out and leave her to suffer? I don't deserve such luxury. _

_I am nothing. And nothing expects nothing and gets just that- nothing. _

_I need to cut deeper. Maybe then I can keep hold of my memories of my dear sister. _

_Deeper. _

**C **


	12. February 2004

Chapter Six-

**Slytherin-Lycan: Charlie and I share some qualities, so it wasn't too difficult to write the emotions and thoughts, etc. **

**Sorry for the wait people, but I've spent the last five days in a place that didn't have a computer- it was torture… **

I flicked through several blood-spattered pages until I came to February 2004, where I paused and read the shaky but still amazingly neat handwriting.

_**February16th 2004,**_

_I suppose it was inevitable that Hermione would find out, but it still took me by surprise. _

_She walked in on me, and I can't imagine what she must have felt- if she can feel at all- when she saw me sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by orange-tinted moonlight from the window, the blood pulsing from my arm, turned silver in the light. My shirt sleeves rolled up to my shoulder, exposing my arms, the scars tattooing my skin from shoulder to wrist luminous in the darkness._

_But she didn't turn away in disgust like I expected her to, didn't call me a freak and a coward for not being able to deal with the fact that my father hits me sometimes- Hermione gets the worst of it- when I have a twin going through the same thing. _

_No, she crossed the room and leant her head on my shoulder, careful to avoid the newer cuts that were only recently healed. _

_We stayed like that for a long time. _

_Then she showed me something I never suspected, but wasn't really surprised at. _

_I'll never forget that. _

**C**

I continued until I got to 2006, when I needed all the force I had to keep myself reading, my horror and fury at what Roger had done to these kids growing with every word I read.

**A/N: Next one up soon if I get some good reviews… **

_**A**_**T**


	13. November 2006

Chapter Six-

**A/N: Don't hate me people! I hate this chapter, but the whole story was really leading up to this. **

Oh, god.

I stared down at the page in front of me numbly, hardly comprehending to words as what I had just read swirled through my mind like a horrible tornado.

Oh, Charlie.

You kept that to yourself for so long, why didn't you tell us when we first brought to Grimmauld place? We could've helped in some way. Any way.

No wonder you always seemed more messed up than Hermione, after _this _anybody would be.

I looked down once more at the page in front of me; it was spattered with salty remnants of tears cried a long time ago as well as blood.

_**November 29**__**th**__** 2006, **_

_Oh, god help me. _

_I feel sick, empty. _

_Stop it, stop it, STOP IT. _

_I'm screaming out loud now and I can hear Roger laughing as he hears me. Hermione is at the school she goes to, thank god. So she didn't have to see this. _

_I don't go to school- Roger refused to let me go to Hogwarts with Hermione in case we escaped him, so he needed one of us to stay at home. _

_To keep the other returning every holiday._

_It worked though, and it always will-I just wish Hermione would see sense and get out when she could. But she never does; every holiday she comes home, like clockwork. _

_Now I know why I wanted _me_ to stay with him for the school terms. _

_I'm really throwing up now. I can't help it- after what Roger just did. My numbness is gone- without it I'm going to die. I need it back so badly, after what just happened, I need more than ever. _

_He hurt me in the worst way possible. The beatings, the tauntings, I could deal with, but this… no, I was never going to forget this. _

_He took my virginity. _

_I've kept myself away from women so as to not be put in the position of a relationship with them- I was never going to bring someone else into my fucked-up life. And now…_

_Now I'm throwing up again._

_Which is weird because I haven't eaten anything in the last few days, I couldn't find anyone who would give me food. _

_But I'm still lying in the bathroom, hurling stuff I never knew was still in my stomach. I feel like crying, but I can't. _

_Don't let yourself Charlie, crying is weakness. _

_But I'm doing it anyway. I can't stop. _

_My own father… did that to me. _

_I need to cut, now. _

_I'm cutting deeper than I ever have before, attacking my arm as ruthlessly as my father did to me. Trying to make the revulsion disappear, the sick feeling that I don't want. _

_Oh, god. There's blood everywhere. _

_I cut too deep. But I'm still cutting. Deeper. I can't stop it anymore. Can't control what I'm doing. I think I've severed something in my wrist-an artery?_

_Blood spattering the walls and the floor, staining the grimy tiles and ruby colour. _

_Am I dying? Is this what it feels like to die on the outside? _

_Oddly, I feel calm, like all my troubles have drifted away completely, leaving me free. _

_Free as a bird. _

_The paper is blurring where I'm writing, and so is the torrent of red pouring from my wrist. Dizziness is overwhelming m- _

The entry stopped there, after the writing had got steadily more sluggish, as if the writer was getting increasingly tired and couldn't be bothered to finish.

I already know what happened; Charlie fell unconscious from blood loss and couldn't write any more. That was obvious.

But what happened to him after that?

**Allamonella: THEY ARE DIARY ENTRIES! THEY HAVE TO BE SHORTER! Ah, now I'm going crazy. But, yeah I know there are bit short, but you'll get another one later today- if you review, nicely! - And maybe I might be generous again today, but if not tomorrow, definitely. And you have got AT LEAST another three after this that are diary entries, so don't panic!**


	14. December 2006

Chapter Six-

My question was answered in the next diary entry.

_**December 7**__**th**__** 2006**_

_My next door neighbour found me. _

_I was at the hospital for a week; but my injury wasn't serious enough for a whole week in the hospital. Apparently I hadn't severed the main artery in my wrist, but the minor one that runs alongside it, so my condition had been critical when I was brought in, but quickly stabilised. _

_They wouldn't let me go- endless questions; "Did you do it yourself?" "Are you a self-harmer?" "Do your parents know?" That's why I was in there so long; they couldn't track down my father. _

_In the end I simply sank into my numbness- I was relieved that I could now sink into it again- and tuned the people out. Eventually they gave up on me and pummelled my father when they eventually found him for information instead. _

_He said he didn't know, and that I would see a therapist and yes, he would sort me out and make sure I understood how dangerous the consequences of my little stunt were. _

_And he got away with it. They believed him, but then again, Roger has always been excellent at manipulating the people around him._

_He did _**that **_again when we returned to the house- my punishment. _

_He's done that to me twice now. _

_I highly doubt it will be the last, but least I have my numbness to protect me again- but it's still shaky, and I get moments where it disappears completely._

_I am making a promise to myself- never under any circumstances, must Hermione find out that Rodger does that to me. _

_Ever. _

**C**

**Oh, and just as an afterthought you might want to know, this story is set in 2007, so the entries will only be going up to 2007. **

**ShyDarkness**

**Allamonalla**

**Vixengreen**

**Drummerxbaby**

**Classygryl **

**Writer-by-day**

**ProperT**


	15. July 2007

Chapter Six-

A/N: **does this entry look familiar?! Hint: chapter three. **

**-ShyDarkness**

**- Neypuslover**

**-Vixengreen**

**-Drummerxbaby**

**-Allamonalla**

**- ProperT**

The next entry I read- after flicking through more of the pages- was the second to last one, dated as Monday.

_**25**__**th**__** July 2007**_

_**He did it again. I've lost count how many times he's done that, but I don't want to know. **_

_**I want to die, but I know I can't. **_

_I'm drowning in my memories. Of Hermione when she was happy, of her sweet, carefree face, innocent in its youthfulness, but then these recollections are shadowed, by visions of her now; her dead eyes, the bruises that are constantly present under her eyes-neither of us sleep; we are afraid that we will wake up and the other will be gone; taken by the merciless hands of Roger Granger. _

_The two of us may be numb, permanently emotionless, but we are still aware of the hurt that we have- and still do- endured, we acknowledge that we will always be broken; that we can never be normal- now that Roger has damaged us beyond repair. That knowledge will haunt us forever, knowing that our own father has doomed us to a life with no meaning. _

_My dear sister; I can hear her screams from up here, in our room. I know what _**He**_ is doing to her; I know that it may break her so viciously that she may not recover- if we ever can; after what has happened these past eight years I doubt it._

_I can only comfort her when he is finished, hope that she can be saved from the abyss she will no doubt sink further into. No-one helped me when I was hurt, so I sank further still; now I cannot resurface. Hermione has no idea how deep my scars run; hopefully, she will never find out. She has the potential to recover from this._

_I do not. _

**C**


	16. Last Entry

Chapter Six-

ShyDarkness, ProperT, Vixengreen, Allamonalla

Then I read the last entry.

It had been written on Tuesday, when Charlie had been arguing to whatever portrait had been criticising.

_**30**__**th**__** July 2007 **_

_Hermione isn't getting better. _

_She lies there, unconscious and scarred by my father's hand and her own-_** What did Charlie mean? Scarred by her hand? Hermione? No, surely not-**_, showing no progress. _

_The purple-haired woman- Tonks- said she is getting better, but I can see past her face. _

_Hermione must be dying. _

_How am I going to live without my sister? She made me something by caring; without her, I'll go back to being nothing at all. _

_I can't live like that again. _

_The people at Grimmauld place; I can see how much they care about her, but they don't understand; they love and care about a Hermione that does not exist. _

_The one she invented. _

**I**_ am the only one who really cares about Hermione Granger. The only one who truly knows who she is and how she thinks. _

_Whose' been there, living through the beatings, the malicious words from Roger, all of it. _

_They can't possibly imagine what that feels like. _

_My Hermione. _

_My Hermione is dying. _

_Then I'll be alone. I'm alone now. _

_Always alone. _

_Forever alone. _

_I have to be alone. I'll die alone too. _

_That is how it has always been. _

_Hermione is my life. Without Hermione, there is no life. _

_No life worth living. I'm better of dead. _

_And that is how it shall be. _

**C **

**A/N: so, that's the last of the diary entries. **

**Hope you liked them. It is pretty horrible what Roger did to Charlie, I know, but that what this story was about, so please don't torture me and eat me. I don't taste very nice. **

_**A**_**T**

**Allamonalla: Well, I think you should get more than you're gettting or get due to what you giving to people. And if what you're getting isn't what you deserve to be getting, what you've got shouldn't reflect on what you're giving to us fanfictioners (and I did try the saying it five times- I got halfway through the third time and was laughed at by my brother.) Oh, and I agree totally; "Despite" is a very good word- and another point to add to the list; Sanity is over-rated, so don't feel you're missing much... **


	17. Hospital

Thursday, 9:00am

**Allamonalla: No, your writing is good! I think you deserve way more that you're getting. **

**Right people, here is a chapter that you'll probably like, I did. Now you'll find out that there was really more to this than met the eye… **

_**Thursday, 2:30pm **_

**Hermione**

Oh, Charlie.

He looked terrible; his face pale and drawn with unconscious anxiety. Prominent bruises were evident under his eyes- but he'd always had them, just like me, seen as we only ever really slept fully twice a week at most. Almost all of his body that wasn't swathed in the voluminous blue hospital sheets was concealed under crisp white bandages.

"I'm so sorry Charlie," I whispered hoarsely. "So sorry I wasn't there all those times, when you needed me." Some thing cold ran down my cheek, and I wiped my hand absent-mindedly across it. Surprised, I found my fingers wet. It must be dripping somewhere, or raining.

"Hey," Sirius's voice sounded close to my ear, his hands encircling my shoulders, ignoring the slight, uncontrollable flinch that accompanied being touched by someone. "Here."

"Thanks." I gratefully accepted the coffee from him, letting the warmth from the beverage seep into my hands and allow my fingers to uncurl from their claw-like posture. "How-how is he?"

"The healer said he was doing fine, that his bones are all healed and the bruises will be gone within two or three days."

I smiled tiredly and leant my head on his shoulder.

"He'll be okay, Hermione," Sirius murmured softly in my ear. "He'll be out of here within the week and then you can take him home."

I allowed a small smile to lift my lips in response to his words.

Charlie was still asleep ten minutes later, so the female Healer subtly kicked us out with a casual flick of her hand.

Neither of us wanted to return to Grimmauld Place any sooner than possible, so, slightly exasperated at the unceremonious kicking out we received, we walked out together and sat in the hall instead. Sitting on the floor with our back pressed against the wall and our shoulders touching slightly, I realised I felt better than I had in a long time.

"Thanks, Sirius," I sighed heavily and closed my eyes. "Thanks for bringing me here and letting me bore you to death with everything."

"'Tis okay, Hermione, you know I don't mind." Sirius replied, and I could see that he really, truly meant what he was saying. He pulled me closer to him and kissed my forehead gently, leaving an alien vibration fizzing through my body, and shook myself surreptitiously and banished the feeling from my mind.

We sat there, the minutes slipping by like liquid held in your bare hands, together without talking as countless people rushed past us in hurried anxiety that we did not comprehend.

_**5:00pm **_

"Sirius, wake up."

Abruptly, he jerked awake and looked around blearily. "Sorry, did I fall asleep?"

"Don't worry about it; you were awake all last night." I said, smiling as I did so- for the first seventeen years of my life, I could count on one hand how many times I'd ever smiled or laughed, but now, being in Sirius's company these last few days, I was running out of fingers.

"But so were you- how come only I fell asleep?" He demanded indignantly, his expression widening my smile even further.

"Two reasons- you are a man who's probably never had less than ten hours of sleep every night, and I… I don't sleep much anyway." My smile darkened slightly, making Sirius frown next to me.

"Because of Roger." Now we both had blackened expressions.

"Yeah, is it that obvious?"

"Yes, but I may have, um…" Sheepishness replaced the frown. "Read you're brother's diary. I know you don't sleep because you're afraid of him coming into your room whilst you're asleep and hurting you."

Oh. "It's a journal, actually- diary is too girly. So you saw the… the pages?"

"You mean you _knew_? About what Charlie was doing?"

"Sirius, we lived in the same room, slept on the same mattress for seventeen- nearly eighteen- years, do you really think I wouldn't notice?"

"Yeah. No. But how could you let him do that to himself?"

"We all have our bad habits, some are just worse than others. I haven't read it his journal but I've seen Charlie do… that; seen the scars- I accept that he does it, and I'm not going to tell him not to. It's his way of dealing with what Roger has done; don't take that away from him, Sirius."

Sirius sighed and looked away. "I'm not going to." Something flitted over his face as he said it, but disintegrated in nothingness before I could recognise it. Abruptly, he stood up and strode over to the door, looking through the glass window into the room beyond it.

I rose and walked over to him, my approach causing him to turn and look at me. I opened my mouth to say something, but no sound issued from my lips. Time seemed to slow, then stop altogether; it was like we were locked in ice, time moving normally on the outside, but the inside it did not exist- sound faded away, until the silence echoed in my ears, making them hum incessantly. I couldn't move, couldn't wrench my eyes from his as he slowly, hesitantly pressed his lips to mine.

I inhaled desperately, breathing him in; he was bittersweet-like dark chocolate- and in those mere seconds I realised just how much I needed Sirius Black.

My arms wrapped around his neck with their own accord, the familiar, wanted weight of his around my waist. Part of me screamed at being touched, being _held_ by a man, he could hurt me, kill me if he wanted to; I was close enough to him for him to do that before I could get away- half of me pleaded, begged for me to run, run away from him, run from the danger he posed.

But another part was louder, drowning out the pleading voice in my mind; this wasn't just a man, this was Sirius, who I'd known for years, who, I knew, would never hurt me. The first voice quietened, and ceased completely as I realised I really did want this; I _wanted_ Sirius to kiss me, to hold me, to treat me as if the last seventeen years hadn't happened, that I was normal.

I wanted to be with Sirius, and just to forget everything that had happened.

We broke apart, and Sirius tore his gaze from mine and looked at the floor.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione."

Confusion flashed in my mind before it was swiftly replaced with wariness; was it all a trick, was he going to do something to me?

No, this was just the Hermione Roger had created when he started hitting us talking; my imagination, that's all.

"What for?"

"Kissing you, that was wrong, I shouldn't have done that," Guilt clouded Sirius's features, a desperate need for forgiveness accompanying it. "I mean you're eighteen, I'm twenty-nine **(yeah, he miraculously lost a decade of his life- go figure!) **I'm not allowed to do that."

I couldn't bear looking at his tortured expression, it hurt my heart to see him upset, so I did the only thing I could think of that might, possibly make him happy again, because if he wasn't happy, there was no way I could even hope to be.

I kissed him again.

I steeled myself for him to pull away and leave me alone in the corridor; for him to walk away and never look back; letting me die with every step he took.

But he didn't, he kissed me back.

But then he froze, and slowly pulled away from me. Just like I knew he would- I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the look on his face, to see him turn and walk until he became a speck in the distance, something with no reason to stay where he was. For the first time in so many years, I felt the agony of rejection- it was the first emotional experience I was undergoing after so many years of hollowness; how fitting that it should be pain that I feel.

I unclenched my eyes and looked at him, waiting for the moment that I died on the outside.

But it didn't come. Sirius didn't look at me in disgust, reject me and walk away.

He wasn't even looking at me. He was glowering at something through the window set into the door, loathing evident on his face. I flinched as the anger rolling off him in waves hit me at full force.

"Sirius I"- I broke off as I caught sight of what he was glaring at with such hatred.

My father was standing in the door way on the opposite sight of the ward.

As I looked upon the face of the man who had decorated my skin with scars and bruises, made it impossible for me to go anywhere near grown men- who where probably utterly nice people- without thinking they were going to hurt me, I felt nothing. No anger, no loathing, nothing.

He had taken away everything about me, even my ability to hate him.

Roger hadn't noticed us watching him. He walked over to Charlie's bed, with a look I never thought I'd see on his face, a look I never thought he was capable of.

It was tenderness.

He sat down on the same plastic chair that Sirius had sat on not four hours earlier, and put his head in his hands.

I didn't know what he was doing; Roger wasn't capable of this, not to Charlie or me; he'd never done this before, ever.

I looked at Sirius, the moment we'd shared just seconds before forgotten completely. Puzzlement warred with the anger on his face. He turned back to the window just as Roger lifted his head and reached out to stroke Charlie's cheek.

He never got that far. Sirius slammed open the doors and grabbed his collar, lifting him off his feet.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing here?" Sirius yelled at him. "Stay away from them!"

"I wanted to see how he was." Roger answered, flinching as Sirius laughed bitterly, fury seeping into his voice.

"When did you ever care about them, Roger? They're your fucking kids and you've ruined their lives." Sirius shoved my father roughly, knocking him into the chair he had just vacated. "How could you do that to them, Roger? What did they ever do to you?"

My father's usual sneer was gone; he looked lost, disoriented. He shook his head slowly, blankness clouding his eyes as Sirius stood over him, spitting fire.

"Because we killed our mother," I said, aware that my voice was flat, evidently reciting something that had been drilled into me from the time I could speak. "Calandra died in childbirth."

"How is that killing their mother, Roger?" Sirius turned back to my father, who seemed to be shrinking with every word Sirius spat at him. "How can you blame your kids for something that isn't their fault?"

At first I thought Roger wasn't going to answer, but without warning, a sob broke the silence and he looked up, tears streaming down his cheeks. He wasn't looking at Sirius anymore, he was looking at me.

"She didn't die in childbirth," His tortured expression awoke something in me, but I didn't know what. Tears were clogging his voice now, so I could easily have mistaken what he said next. "And I'm not your father."

**Hah! Bet you didn't see that coming, eh? Lovely little twist for you lot out there who've read and reviewed every chapter like the nice people you are. Yep, it took me a while to get to this, but I got there in the end. It's weird, because this fic was actually only meant to be like four chapter long; but that kinda went down the drain… **

**Review! **

_**A**_**T**


	18. Truth

Thursday, 9:00am

**A/N: So people liked the last chapter… so, because lots of you reviewed, you get this chapter! Granted, you would have got it anyway, but still… **

**Vixengreen**

**Aprilgirl**

**Teddy.in.a.nutshell**

**Drummerxbaby**

**Classygyrl **

**Slytherin-Lycan- that's okay, my computer hates me too… **

**Lexi**

**Niga Monkey- jellybeans- love the name!**

**Allamonalla- Lovely poem. **

**ShyDarkness**

**Hermione**

_**Thursday 5:10pm **_

I stared incredulously at the haggard, crying man sitting before me. This man had hit me, raped me and even almost drowned me once, yet here he was, crying in front of me, after saying something I didn't understand.

"I'm not your father," Roger continued, his face in his hands. "You're mother… didn't die in childbirth, she left me after you two were born."

He was still looking at me, desperation making him blurt out the rest hurriedly. "She didn't want you, so she left me to take care of you. I don't know where she is now."

"That doesn't explain how you're not my father," I said hoarsely, my voice blunt. Sirius moved to put his arm around me comfortingly. "You were married."

Roger nodded wearily, "I wanted a proper family, but she'd always said she didn't want kids, and I loved her too much to make her unhappy, so I never asked again. Then we found out she was pregnant; she wanted to get rid of you, but I begged her, and she was too far gone anyway.

"After you were born the truth came out. She'd had an affair with another man, and you were his, not mine- I felt crushed when she told me that she didn't want you, and that she was leaving me for him. So she left with him and abandoned you; I couldn't put you up for adoption, so I kept you."

Roger stopped talking and looked at me; through the unshed tears, I could see he really meant what he was saying; he wasn't my father, my mother wasn't dead. Roger was in no way related to me at all.

"You're lying, Roger."

My head snapped up as Sirius's voice cut through the air like a lethal knife. No, Sirius, please don't ruin this- Roger isn't my father, don't say he is, don't take away the one hope I have…

"No? Then why does Hermione look just like you?"

And with those nine, simple words, I felt that last ray of hope wither and die within my chest, because I'd known all along that it couldn't be true, that Sirius was right- I _did_ look too much like Roger for it to be a coincidence.

"Because the man my wife had an affair with was my brother, Jude."

Sirius's arms tightened around me as a miniscule gasp of muted surprise escaped my lips as the words left Roger's mouth. He wasn't my father, he was my-

"Uncle. I'm your uncle, not your father." Roger explained bitterly. "My brother stole my wife from me. The only woman I ever loved and he had to have her. I do care about you Hermione, but I hate you as well-every time I look at you, I see Jude's face, and Calandra is all that I see whenever I look at your brother."

Roger did love us, but he also hated us, because we reminded him of the past, of what he dearly wanted to forget.

Did he mean this? Did he actually mean that he'd never wanted to hurt us, that it wasn't his fault?

I could see in his eyes that he meant every word.

"In the beginning, I would drink to escape the image of my wife and Jude, then I would get immense black voids in my memory afterwards. Then I would see a new, fresh bruise on your face the next day; I'd feel disgusted, horrified that I could do that to my own niece and nephew; I'd drink more, try to fight the abysses in my mind, but I never could- the hate I felt for the two of you terrified me, that I would lose control of it and do something to you. I saw how I was affecting Charlie and you- the veil that hovered over your eyes; the stony mask that always hid your faces; the wariness that hung about you like an aura- but I couldn't stop, even when the blackness stopped hiding what I was doing and I was forced to watch as I hit you over and over again, watched you lie there under me, motionless and just waiting for the next punch or kick.

I dreaded the moment when I would do it again, so I avoided you, stayed locked in my room, but it didn't help- the day when you told the woman across the road what I was doing, I was so tired- I hadn't slept for the whole week, I was so scared that I would lose control while I was asleep and hurt you again- and the anger took over. Before I knew it, she was dead.

I couldn't control the anger, the hatred I felt for you; it made me hurt you when all I wanted to do was take care of you, treat you like you were my children, not my niece and nephew, then I did… that to you."

I looked away, my eyes clenched shut, but the image of Roger above me, the crazed, lunatic expression on his face as he took my virginity refused to be banished.

"Hermione, I am so, so sorry for what I did," Roger said from the chair, he stood up and moved towards me, and I reflectively flinched backwards, out of his reach. Pain flared in his eyes as I shrunk behind Sirius's back, trying my hardest to become so small that he wouldn't see me anymore.

"You see?" He whispered, agony saturating his voice. "Look what I've done- you're too terrified of me to allow me to even come near you anymore."

"But it's not just you, is it, Roger?" Sirius snarled, his arms still creating a protective barrier between me and Roger. "It's every fucking grown man that she can't go anywhere near. It's your fault that your own niece can't go into a public place without fear of walking close to any male people, can't go anywhere without assessing every person there for potential danger."

"I didn't want this!" Roger cried. "I didn't want her to grow up afraid of her own uncle, didn't want her like this, full of memories of me hurting her. I wanted her to be happy, to be normal; but I couldn't stop hurting her! I couldn't stop – not even when I was doing… that, even when she screamed for me to stop."

"Yeah, you didn't want to hurt her, didn't want rape _her_, Roger!" Sirius bellowed at him, making him shrink back into the chair he had just vacated. "But what about your nephew, Roger? What about him? What about what you did to him as well? It hurt Hermione enough when you did it to her once, what about Charlie, who you've been giving nightmares about it for years?"

"What?" I exclaimed, hoping, praying that I'd misinterpreted what Sirius had said. "Sirius, what's going on? What did he do to Charlie?"

"He's been doing what he did to you to Charlie. For years."

Pain ripped through me, tearing at my insides as I looked at Charlie, lying in the hospital bed, pale and unconscious. Charlie…

Without thinking, I threw myself at Roger.

"How could you?" I screamed, fighting desperately at Sirius, who had me grasped by the shoulders in an effort to stall me. "You bastard, he's your nephew, how could you?"

Roger's face seemed to crumple as I yelled at him, hysteria growing with every word. "He's just a kid, how could you do that to him, you- you"- I collapsed on Sirius before I could finish, burying my face into his chest, desperately trying to banish Roger from the hospital.

And then for the first time in as long as I could remember, I was crying.

The tears poured from eyes that had remained dry for nine laborious years, through beatings and verbal thrashings, through countless hospital visits and school terms of pretending to be somebody else, and with them went the emotions I had fled from when Roger hit me; everything I had ever felt, however large or small, in the last decade that I had hidden away in the back of my mind where I couldn't feel them. Sirius rested his head on my shoulder, whispering gently in my ear, soothing me as I wept the tears I hadn't allowed myself to cry.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Sirius murmured as my sobs lessened slightly, he said something else, but I didn't hear because the blackness that had been blurring the edges of my vision consumed me and I sank into it before I could ask what it was he'd said.

_**Saturday 6:45am **_

I opened my eyes to the sight of sunlight streaming through the window above my head, outlining the out snake pattern on the emerald walls. I lifted my head and glanced around, blinking rapidly as I tried to rid myself of the warm, muggy feeling you get when you've just woken up after a long sleep.

I was in the room I'd previously occupied when I'd first been brought to Grimmauld Place, lying haphazardly in one of the two beds.

A small gasp escaped my lips as a tremendous snore sounded in the bed next to me, making me jump slightly, and then relax when I saw it was only Sirius. He was sprawled, fully dressed, on top of the covers, snoring loudly.

I smiled and wriggled further under the covers, incapable of moving as the warmth rushed over me again.

Sirius groaned, mumbled something and twitched, then rolled over and sat up.

"Hey," I said, my body flooded with an unfamiliar feeling as I grinned at him. Then I realised; it was happiness, true, genuine happiness was what I felt when I looked at him.

"Mmm," Sirius mumbled blearily, rubbing the back of his head tiredly. His eyes cleared slightly and he returned my smile. "Hey."

"Have we been asleep long?"

"You've been asleep for about a day and a half. You really must have needed it."

"Yeah, I guess." It was the first I'd slept undisturbed- usually I woke up, cold and shivering, in the middle of the night, and it took hours to get back to sleep. Most nights that I slept I had nightmares too.

"Charlie came home last night." Sirius's voice broke my reverie.

"He did? Where is he?" I babbled excitedly, tumbling out of the bed and flopping onto the mattress with Sirius.

"Asleep, probably, the Healers discharged him around nine o'clock and he got back here about ten. Kingsley and Tonks brought him; I was here, watching you."

At his words, the memories came flooding back; our kiss, the confrontation with Roger, the truth about everything… what my- Roger done to Charlie.

Sirius seemed to understand my expression, as he smiled faintly and put his arm around me.

"It's okay Hermione, this doesn't change anything."

"Yeah, it does, but most of that is a good thing.

"For years I prayed that one day somebody would tell me we weren't related to Roger, that we didn't have to stay there anymore, that we could leave him and put everything he did to us behind and try to forget. Now, I've got what I wanted, I just didn't think I'd have to pay such a price for it."

I could tell Sirius knew I meant what Charlie had gone through, and the truth about why Roger had beaten us- I don't know which I preferred; knowing the truth, or continuing hoping.

"It'll be okay, you've got me."

I smiled and looked up at him. "I know." We sat together for several minutes before a thought suddenly occurred to me.

"Sirius?"

Sirius nodded for me to continue. "What… when we were in the hospital, and I was… crying… what did you say?"

"I said, 'It's okay sweetheart,'" Sirius paused, and I nodded slowly, urging him to continue. He stared intently into my eyes as he said, "And I said I loved you."

I shook my head and stood up. "Sirius, you deserve better than me."

He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. "You deserve to be with someone who hasn't got such a dark past, someone who won't find it difficult to be in a relationship with you, someone who won't have to constantly fight the urge to run from you.

"You're much better than that, Sirius, than to end up with someone who's as messed up as me. Don't tell yourself that you're in love with me because you pity me- don't do something that you'll regret when you come to your sense."

He didn't say anything, only stood up and faced me.

"I am in full control of my senses, Hermione," He said quietly. "And I don't pity you." He leaned closer to me, so that our noses were almost touching; and surprisingly, I didn't flinch at the intimacy, and I didn't push him away. "I don't care about it being difficult, all I want is you."

I couldn't move- but I didn't want to either- as he pressed his lips against mine tenderly. This time, as I wrapped my arms around him, there was no anxious voice whispering my ear, this time all there was was happiness at being wanted, at being _loved. _

He wasn't trying to manipulate me, or trick me; he actually cared. He was showing me with his kiss just how much he loved me.

And I didn't need to say with words that I felt exactly the same way.

**Don't you just say "aww" at that last bit? Review, don't you think I deserve it for that?! **


	19. White World

Chapter nineteen here for lovely people out there who've nearly given me 100 reviews- come on people, you know you can give me another nine

**Chapter nineteen here for lovely people out there who've given me so many nice reviews. **

Ninga-Monkey-jellybeans

Slytherin-Lycan

Vixengreen

ShyDarkness

Aprilgirl

Bluebaby3296

Allamonalla- **this dramatic enough for you?!**

ProperT

Katie. Cupcake**- yeah, I haven't made it really clear, but Roger DID Apparate in chapter whatsit (4, maybe?), and only wizards can do that right? But thank you for the very nice review, it's nice when people say you have talent… **

**You're a good bunch!**

_**Saturday 9:00am. **_

**I just wanted you to understand. **

The paper in my hands was shaking slightly as I read the writing. It was neat writing that sloped and curved, and it held an elegant grace to it that I felt as I read the words.

I knew who it was from despite the lack of signature.

**You don't deserve to have such an atrocity near you, so I'm getting away. **

**You won't see me again, I promise.**

**They were the only things of your mother's that I have; keep them safe. **

The letter had come earlier this morning, clasped in the talons of a huge Great Grey Owl- it had struggled to fit through the bay windows in the dining room. It had been addressed to me and my brother.

Accompanying the folded piece of paper inside the envelope, something gold had glittered at the bottom.

I slid my hand in and withdrew, two objects clasped in my fingers.

The first was a necklace made of gold; the tear-drop pendant suspended on it made of milk-white pearl.

The second was a book wrapped in red faux leather, it's pages rimmed in gold and it's title stamped in gold on the cover; _White Fang. _When I opened the front cover, a small piece of pale paper fell out.

**Your mother's favourite book. It was given to her by her Grandmother for her first birthday. I gave the necklace to her for our fifth wedding anniversary. You can guess what the other is. **

I looked again into the envelope and picked up the last object.

It was a fine, platinum-coloured chain, two circular white-gold bands dangling serenely from it. Absent-mindedly, I ran my finger around the inside circle of one of them, studying the other as I did so.

It was smooth and unblemished, a tiny onyx stone set into the centre of the ring, two white crystals on either side of it, the word, _"Forever"_ engraved on the inside in slanting script.

My mother's wedding ring.

I slid the objects, the letter and the envelope into my pillow case surreptitiously.

"Hermione."

I turned as the voice I knew as well as my own sounded behind me. If I could have, I would have hugged the boy standing in doorway, but I knew Charlie wouldn't like me doing it, so I refrained and looked at him instead.

"Better?" He asked, and it hurt as I realised that at one time my voice had sounded identical to his; flat and empty- now mine was like everybody else's, a sign that I was better than I used to be not two weeks ago. Charlie's was the same as before, and I knew he wasn't getting any better without Roger hitting him; deep down I don't think he'll ever recover.

"Yes."

Charlie was so different from what I remembered; but maybe that was because this time I wasn't seeing him, I was looking- actually _looking_- at him. His face was thinner that I recalled; his eyes seeming too large for his face, the clothes he was wearing two sizes too large. Vulnerability clung to him like a second skin, his wariness of everyone and everything obvious even to me.

I couldn't help it- I knew he wouldn't like it, but I did it anyway- I gently put my arms around him, my heart splintering as I felt him flinch like a wounded animal. I was his _sister,_ and he couldn't even bear to have me touch him.

"Come on," I said, desperate for him to miss the slight waver in my voice as I spoke. "Let's go downstairs."

_**12:00pm **_

**Charlie **

Hermione is different.

She's changed completely; she looks better than she used to; there is colour in hers cheeks again- something I haven't seen for years- and a spark in her eyes that transforms her into something else.

She's starting to forget.

She's turning into the Hermione _they_ all know; the one who can feel emotions, who doesn't have to act like a normal person because she _is _one_. _

I've lost my sister; I don't know the person sitting next to me is.

Part of me is glad; it means she is getting better, is able to put our father behind her and move on from her childhood. I'm glad one of us can. And I'll be able to watch her find happiness again, be able to love things like she used to before she changed. I always wanted her to get better, to not allow Roger to poison her whole life, now I've got my wish.

But there is the incessant whisper. It tells me the thoughts that I've banished with all the force I have left.

It won't let me ignore the fact that some of me didn't want her to get better, that it would just be the two of us forever, that we would still share that bond that we had whenever Roger beat us. That I would be the only one who saw the real her, and the rest of the world was on the other side of a wall, and we were on the other.

But now she is recovering- slowly, but she's still doing it- so it won't ever be that anymore; it will be like the wall has disappeared, and I'll just be another person in her life, not the only one, like I used to be.

I can't take the constant noise of the kitchen, I have to get out, leave this place before I explode. I stand up abruptly and leave as hurriedly as I can.

Hermione hardly noticed my absence; she was too busy talking to Sirius.

Before I know it, I'm in the soothing silence of the hall, the welcoming darkness surrounding me. Impulsively, I pull out the scrunched pieces of paper out of my pocket, smoothing out the creases and holding them up to the light.

One of them is the two of us; the other is the hospital picture of us and our parents. I stare at the first, watching as Hermione's images laughs and dances across the pages with a vigour that was lost on the real Hermione. Her eight-year-old self is bundled up in a chocolate-coloured coat, a red bobble hat bobbing erratically on her head. Her nose was prominently red with the cold, but it suited her, enhanced her features and made her obviously beautiful. There were white petals off of the tree above us caught in her hair, contrasting with her skin colour so she looked like she was glowing, radiating happiness.

Roger was crouching behind her, his arm around both of us, that fatherly smile I don't remember on his face.

A splash of water fell onto the frame, making the occupants scatter, shrieking. I looked up, searching for the drip, but I didn't find any. I shrugged mentally and turn to the second picture.

There was something I didn't quite find right about this picture; I'd always thought that, but however many ties I looked at it, I never figured it out. It was of the hospital where Hermione and I were born, Calandra and Roger holding us and smiling. We must have been several days old when the picture was taken.

Then abruptly, it hit me.

Calandra was dead before we were a day old- she died several minutes after we were born. Roger had always told us that. But how could she be in this picture if she was dead? I turned the picture over and read the date and caption written on the back:

**Calandra, Roger, Hermione and Charlie (two days old) Granger, Mercy Hospital. **

**1989 **

It _was_ our mother.

Roger had lied to us- but what did I expect? He wasn't one to tell the truth. I stared fiercely at the peeling paper on the wall in front of me, trying desperately to reach the truth. It had been in front of me the whole time, and I hadn't realised. All those years, we thought we'd killed her, that it was our fault she wasn't here and that's why Roger hit us…

"Charlie?" I barely acknowledged the silhouette standing in the doorway, only nodded distractedly.

"We didn't kill her."

"What?" Hermione came over to me and I showed her the picture.

"Calandra." I pointed at the woman in the picture. "This was taken several days after we were born, Hermione, Roger told us she died in childbirth."

"I know."

My head snapped up and a stared at her, for once meeting her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Calandra didn't die," She said softly, and I couldn't believe what in was hearing; she'd known and she hadn't told me. "She left. Roger isn't our father, he's our uncle."

I was grateful Hermione still had enough of her old self left to recognise my expression, because I couldn't speak. She continued talking, and I felt what colour I had drain from my face as I took in what she was saying.

Jude… I didn't even know there was a Jude. Roger was our uncle… Roger had been at the hospital, near me and hadn't done anything to me. Why?

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Hermione opened her mouth, paused and closed it again. As she struggled for the words, I felt nothing towards her; she was the one person in the whole of the world and now I couldn't feel anything towards her either- I felt betrayed. Only cold detachment echoed in my chest; Hermione had changed, and it was breaking us apart; with her recovery, a rift had opened up between us, on that neither of us could close. She was Hermione Granger, but she wasn't my sister. Not anymore.

Without saying anything, I turned and opened the door behind me, stepping out into the cool air outside.

Ignoring Hermione's growingly scared calls, I started walking.

**Sirius. **

"Sirius!" Hermione burst through the kitchen door, her face pale and her eyes wide. "Sirius, stop him!"

"What is it?" I asked clutching her arms as her hysteria grew.

"He just walked out the door!" She cried. "He wouldn't listen to me, just walked through the door and didn't look back, even when I shouted."

I didn't need to ask who she was talking about. "I'll go get him." Was all I said before bounding across the room and slipping through the front door.

**Charlie **

I was wandering, but I didn't care. There wasn't anywhere I needed to be, anywhere I needed to go or anything I needed to do; I could just walk forever, there was nothing holding me where I was.

The sky was pale, a thick blanket of clouds covering its entire length, obscuring the blue and the sun, but its light still emanated from somewhere- I wasn't exactly sure where it was though, but it didn't really matter. Faintly, I heard a dog bark, and mildly, I wondered if it was barking because it was afraid, or angry, or just doing it for the sheer hell of it. It all seemed the same to me anyway; all the emotions and feelings had all melded into one, so now I couldn't tell where one began and another ended.

I drifted.

I felt like I was made of air; I was still looking upwards, so my whole vision was just white clouds. Just me existing in a world of white- nothing else, just me, and the clouds. Dimly, I heard echoes of voices far away, like in the distance, or the reminiscent of a dream, but I felt no need to discover where they were or who they belonged to, so eventually, after a while, they faded away and there was nothing but me and my own little white world.

Without warning, my back connected with a solid object, and my white world disintegrated as I looked down, spots appearing in my vision and a dull feeling in the base of my neck, which a normal person would have possibly called an ache. But I don't know what an ache feels like, so I have no right to call it that. As the spots cleared, I was able to look around and reality snapped back to me in an instant. The airy, free feeling, the detachment…

Was I finally, after everything, losing my sanity?

The airiness swept over me again before I could deliberate; and a foreign calm descended upon me and I forgot the question immediately; I just… cut it lose and watched it float away into darkness, like some sort of untethered boat. I wondered idly if anyone would ever find it again, or if it would just continue to sail through time and space until everything eventually just …stopped.

Suddenly, I was overcome with the urge to hum- I'd never done it before, I didn't know any tunes to anything, but I did it anyway- I just let the sound issue from my lips, it felt appropriate and natural, and I felt as if the last part of a puzzle was being slotted it place, completing the whole picture. I was still moving, but I couldn't feel anything under my feet- maybe I was floating, flying through my world of white? I liked the thought, so I clung onto it, didn't untether it and let it drift away. No, I kept that one.

"Charlie?"

With that one word, my cloud-world crumbled until I was left with nothing but cold, harsh reality again. There was a wall behind me, I leant against it and allowed myself to slide down it, until I was sitting on the hard asphalt ground.

A shadow passed over me and I looked up, into the grey eyes of Sirius Black. Something stirred in my chest, something I hadn't felt for a very long time, but I recognised immediately; anger. It seemed even people who have died inside can feel sometimes, because this feeling was very much real.

Sirius looked at me with what any other person- the blind people who see- would have called concern, but I saw it for what it really was; smugness. He'd stolen my sister from me, killed her-allowed this girl I now knew to take her place- and he was proud of it. The anger boiled inside me, growing with every second that I stared into the face of my sister's killer, no, _murderer_.

"Charlie? Are you alright?"

It was such a pathetic question that I laughed; the sound was humourless and maniacal, but it didn't frighten me. It suited who I was somehow. Sirius leered at me with more of his smugness, and the anger inside me erupted as I stood up and shoved the man before me into the wall.

"You killed my Hermione," I hissed. "You murdered my sister, you took the one thing I had in life and destroyed her. Why? Why did you do it?" I screamed the last sentence, and he flinched. I loved that tiny movement, relished in his discomfort as I yelled.

He tried to speak, but I slammed him into the wall again, unaware that I had grazed my knuckles on the coarse brick, and blood was running down it in thin trickles. Sirius wasn't fighting me, he was letting me push him into the wall, and it only angered me further. I shoved him with more force, and then punched him. I was satisfied when I saw red gathering at the corner of his mouth, and I withdrew, slinking backwards into the shadows, hissing slightly.

A movement on my left caught my eye, and for the first time, I noticed that we were in an alley off of a street, a newspaper stall on the opposite pavement. I caught a brief flash of the front cover of the newspaper; the headline read: 'Man found dead- suspected suicide' before I returned my attention to the man getting to his feet just a few feet away. I tensed, ready for him to attack. He didn't.

His attention was caught by the newspaper stall, and I was tempted to look around and see what exactly he was looking at with such sudden interest, but I didn't dare tear my attention from him in case he struck while I was diverted.

A sudden thought struck me as a small opening in the back of the alley caught my eye. Without taking my gaze off of Sirius, I slunk backwards, my chest almost touching the floor, and entered the passage as quietly as I could. As soon as I was out of view, I rose and started walking down the alleyway.

Ten minute later Sirius was forgotten, and I was airy and flying again in my own cloud-world where nobody could reach me.

Hermione had been my world. She was gone, so now my world had crumbled, I was okay with that; everything was so much easier now…

I didn't need anybody, not anymore- I was free and nobody could take that away from me. I kept on walking.

There was nowhere I needed to be.

**Sirius **

Charlie had completely fled my mind for several seconds. The whole world had faded to blackness and only the newspaper cart was visible. I was staring at the newspaper cover:

**MAN FOUND DEAD- SUSPECTED SUICIDE. **

Was the headline.

Underneath it was a picture of Roger Granger.

I thought back to this morning; Hermione had received that envelope from Roger

'_I just wanted you to understand.' _That's what it had said, Hermione had told me. Roger had given her the necklace, the book, her mother's ring, and then drowned himself.

'_You won't see me again, I promise.'_ He really had meant it when he'd said he'd never meant to hurt them.

Abruptly, I remembered Charlie. I needed to take him home, the boy was sinking further into whatever pit he'd been thrown into and I didn't know if I could get him out again.

I turned and looked for Charlie. He wasn't there.

Oh, god.

**You like? If so, review! Come one, you know you want to- only six more reviews and I'll have a hundred… **


	20. Epilogue

Chapter Six-

A/N: **Whoa, I was expecting to have about two reviews for this story, and instead I get over a hundred?! Thank you people!**

**Allamonalla: Well, you did say a lot in that review… **

**Vixengreen**

**Starlily**

**Teddy.in.a.nutshell **

**Drummerxbaby**

**Malfoymistress1**

**Katie.Cupcake**

**Slytherin-Lycan**

**Just a note on pronunciation: **

**Ibbe- 'Ibbie' (rhythms with 'Libbie')**

**Shia- 'Sheea'**

**Epilogue **

**Sirius**

My heart broke as Hermione cried onto my chest.

I'd come home and told her; Charlie had disappeared. I'd looked until darkness had gathered in the sky, but I hadn't been able to find him. I'd taken my eyes off of him for five seconds at most and he had vanished into the very air I was breathing.

**Hermione**

It's been three weeks.

Twenty-one days.

Two hundred and fifty-one hours. I felt every one of them.

It's been three weeks since Roger's successful suicide, three long weeks since Charlie walked away; after giving me that look of such detachment- three agonising weeks since Charlie disappeared. Three weeks of crying myself to sleep.

I'd spent the first few days in desperate denial, telling myself that Charlie wouldn't do this, that he'd come back and it had all been a misunderstanding. My Charlie wasn't like this.

But he wasn't _my_ Charlie anymore; something had changed him during the time that I was unconscious. A rift had appeared between us when I saw him afterwards; a ravine that neither of us dared to cross. I hadn't felt as close to him when I realised that.

But that was in the recent, painful past- Charlie was gone, and nothing I told myself, or anyone else, would change that. Now I had to concentrate on what to do next.

Like I had always suspected my former 'friends' that had attended Hogwarts with me had all drifted away from me upon knowing about my past. It was unsurprising, really, and I didn't let it affect me- what did startle me slightly was that I found I wasn't really bothered by their abandonment of me; there were too many lies and false insinuations between us for us to be friends like they once believed us to be. I was mostly relieved; every moment I was with them was forced smiles and the constant fear that one of them would see past my façade and discover what really happened to me when I left the school and returned home. Sirius was enough company for me anyway; it felt good to finally have a person who didn't judge or fear me for what had happened in my past, someone who wouldn't plaster on a fake smile to make me feel better, and more importantly, someone I could talk to without any of the restrictions I'd had with anyone else; who knew my past and accepted that I wasn't without flaws.

Someone like Charlie had been really.

Except Charlie had always clung to me because I was like him; we were bound together in the fact that we were both abused. He depended on me because I was really the only thing that kept him in the real world.

The arms around me shifted as Sirius woke up. I smiled faintly as he uttered a low groan and opened his eyes.

I'd cried myself to sleep the few nights I'd slept, and when I had I'd been plagued by nightmares; but last night I'd slept fully and undisturbed lying on Sirius. It had originally been him hugging me, but somehow we'd both fallen asleep instead.

"What happened?" He said, looking around and taking in the bright light streaming through the small window.

"We fell asleep."

"Oh, right," He repeatedly slowly, his mind taking several minutes to begin to function again. Suddenly he grinned and jumped off of the bed. "Come on, I have something for you."

Bemused, I stared at him. He sighed; "You'd didn't think I'd forget did you?" Understanding dawned and I stood up. "I told you that you didn't have to."

"Well, I did, so you may as well enjoy it."

Sighing mockingly, I followed him downstairs and into the kitchen. I couldn't help but smile; Sirius was practically humming with excitement- he must really like whatever he'd got me.

"Well?" I tried- and failed, dramatically- to sound brusque and uninterested. Sirius's grin widened and nodded towards the worn oak table that sat in the middle of the kitchen. With minor trepidation, I walked over to it.

On it were two small boxes wrapped in black satin; I turned around and raised my eyebrows at Sirius, he shrugged innocently as he read my expression; _black wrapping?!_ Gently, his hand guided mine to the slightly larger one. I looked at him briefly and picked it up.

I couldn't control the gasp as I opened it.

Nestled in black velvet was a silver necklace. Two bands of silver twisted into a flame-like shape hung from it, a black stone and two clear-white stones set into the empty space between.

"It's… it's beautiful, Sirius." I breathed, unable to tear my gaze away.

"That's black crystal in the middle and diamonds on either side of it," He paused as I kissed him gently, my gratitude evident in it. "I know you've probably never had a present before, so I wanted to get you something you'd remember."

"I love it, thank you," I stopped and glared mildly at him. "But you're still not off the hook for buying me something."

His grinned widened and he winked. "It's not over yet." He picked the second parcel and handed it to me. Distrustfully, I took it and opened it.

"Um, thanks." Sirius laughed as I looked down at what could only be described as two miniature belts lying on more black velvet. They were black faux leather with tiny silver buckles connecting the two ends together and diminutive white stones studded along their length. They could have fitted loosely around my wrist.

"Thanks, but they're a bit small for me."

"You don't wear them Hermione," He chuckled as I continued to look perplexed.

"So what am I meant to do with tiny belts?" I replied, my confusion making Sirius laugh harder, even though I failed to see the hilarity of the situation. "Wear them as a bracelet?"

It's not for _you_, silly," he answered, his arms enfolding my shoulders. At my raised eyebrow, he gestured to something behind me.

It was another, significantly larger, black box. Sirius seriously had something with the colour black. I was guessing this was another gift. I'd told him specifically, _no gifts, _and he gets me three, four…

Abruptly, I pulled my outstretched hand away from the box. It had definitely just twitched. I was shaking, I realised. I craved the familiar weight of Sirius around my shoulder- and then it was there, his hand resting over mine again, slowly steering my hand towards the box again. I was telling myself I should break away and not touch the box, but… I didn't want to; I wanted to know what was in the box.

"It's alright," Sirius whispered as the box twitched again and my shaking returned with a vengeance. I breathed deeply; Sirius was confidant that whatever was in the box wouldn't hurt me, and even if it was he wouldn't let anything happen to me- at that thought I managed to banish the shakes and allow calmness to seep into my body.

We were several centimetres from the box's lid now, and Sirius lifted the lid on it.

Two pairs of large, blue-black eyes peered at me from the darkness.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," Sirius whispered.

"Okay, you're forgiven." I relented as Sirius kissed me again; I sighed silently as he withdrew; half of me wanted all of Sirius, not just his kisses, but the larger was, for once, shrinking away from the very thought of allowing him to touch in that way. I only had one experience, and that was with-

"I'm glad," He replied, his personal, crooked smile playing on his lips. "It took you long enough."

"It's been a week," I retorted, reclining in the grass and letting the sun warm my face. "You have no patience." He shook his head in mock disbelief and picked up Ibbe, smiling at her purr of contentment.

Ibbe and Shia had been my birthday present; Sirius had argued when I had refused to accept four bequests that the kittens and the collars- which is what the belts had turned out be- were my only gifts, as the necklace was a family treasure. I remember looking at him in mingled shock and joy as he pulled Ibbe and her brother out of the box- he'd later admitted that the jewels on the collars were real and yes, were _slightly_ expensive.

I smiled as she pawed his nose and emitted a faint squeak-like meow. Ibbe and Shia were a seven-week-old Seal Point Siamese kittens. Sirius had said that they where from the same litter but were suspected to have different fathers- the reason for their obvious differences. Ibbe was a light crème-caramel colour, with brown dusting her paws and face, her ears painted a rich chocolate. Deep brown ringed her gorgeous blue eyes. Shia was completely different; he was an impeccable white, with blue melting into a silver-grey on his eyes and tail, his forehead mottled blue, grey and silver, accenting his startlingly ice-blue eyes, a dusting of it tipping his toes.

He was currently walked lopsidedly across the carpet, chasing the string I was dragging along.

I sighed with contentment and looked up, realising Sirius was staring me.

"What?" I asked him, my head cocked slightly to one side. He shook his head and looked away, leaving my eyes fixed to his face. He looked happy. I was glad he was, he didn't seem to regret being with me, or wish that he was somewhere else with someone different, someone who could do everything with him without a second thought; but he'd never asked for that. I think somehow he knew I wasn't ready, and he was prepared to wait for as long as it took me to be.

I leant on his shoulder, watching the two cats wobble around over the floor on their not-yet-steady legs. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on nothing but his breathing, the kittens' meows and the steady, rhythmic chimes of the grandfather clock in the room next door. Things were getting better, I thought as the natural sounds of the house wrapped around me, no longer did I feel as much terror as I had when I saw a male person walking down the same street as me; no longer was I disturbed by nightmares every time I went to sleep. Everything was going to keep on getting better now that I had Sirius- he helped me push past everything that had happened and allowed me to move on from it, to become an actual person, not some toy for Roger to vent his anger upon.

I'd been to the bottom, and now I could only go up.

A/N: **Ah, that, m friends, WAS the final chapter. **

**But, I suppose, if you really liked it, I could use all the leftover ideas to make a sequel… **

**So, yeah, hoped you liked this story, and thanks to all of you who stuck to it throughout the twenty chapters and kept me from going insane with ideas that I couldn't write down fast enough. **

**Thanks, **

**EmbraceTheDarkness **


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